TimeLess
by That One Secretary
Summary: She died in a blaze of (ReDrEdReD), to the tick of a tock in a mind plagued by delusion, and woke up to a fake world with fake people with their fake Flames, and all she wanted was a quiet job in retail. Not the ability to high kick a man's head off his shoulders.(Or in which the Mafia gets caught in the shattered wheel of reincarnation, and the Varia is unamused. The Hibari are.)
1. Arc 1- Kitten in the Rain

A brisk chill spun through the paved streets in a web of glittering snow, the flakes drifting from the gray heavens as they caked the ground in a white blanket that shifted unsteadily under the trudging feet of hurried men and women; street lamps cast the world in a wealth of gold.

A girl strode carefully along the street side, shifting the weight of her backpack to a more comfortable position while she tightened her grasp on the cup of coffee cradled in her warm cocoa hands; the long slender fingers heedless of the buzzed sensation of what could only be burning.

Russet eyes tracked the idle flight of glittering snowflakes through black glasses, the lenses fogged up from the breath that escaped her in soft puffs, uncaring and indifference in her gait.

People that recognized her tried to walk the other way, a few cringing at the sight of the bandaged wrist of her right hand- a smirk curled her torn and bitten lips, and she tightened her garnet scarf with a glimmer of dark, amused pride that reflected itself back to her as she caught a glimpse of her reflection from the handle of the bookshop she had pushed open.

Rolling her eyes, she soon lost herself amongst the shelves, her mane of black hair wet with melted snow that soaked her in glimmering crystals as she hurled her bag down next to an arm chair and dropped down into it with a soft sigh of annoyance.

Time stilled for her in that moment, and she cracked her almond shaped eyes open to squint at the cream-colored ceiling- somewhere, a wind chime sang softly to her. Lazily dragging her limp right hand from its clutch at her coffee, she held it up to the tilted world as though admiring the way it was emboldened by sharp shadows.

Shouts echoed distantly in the background as her eyes widened to observe the dust particles that curled around her still form in the dull gray sunlight, scarf slipping down to pool on the carpeted ground like a puddle of blood; long legs draped over the left arm of the highbacked chair, crossed at the ankles as her upper body dangled over the right arm, her slowly cooling coffee forgotten in the left hand draped easily in her lap.

Tilting her hand to better see the bandage, she flexed her fingers a few times, still feeling the rush of adrenaline and then blinding pain as it had cracked against warm flesh, cartridge and blood giving way to her unbalanced swing; able to experience the sensation of blood congealing between her fingers as the boy she had assaulted collapsed to the ground, shrieking to high heaven as he clutched desperately at his nose, trying not to inhale his own blood. It had been his fault. She hated it when people interrupted her cycle, everything had been _on time_ until he had delayed her.

Tilting her lips into a lopsided grin, she began to click her tongue in a way reminiscent of the repetitive cluck of a clock; unaware or uncaring of the screams that suffused the panic thick air, punctuated by the screech of tires sliding across iced ground in a despairing fight for control, of the way the atmosphere stilled in inevitability around her; bright russet eyes focused eerily on the horrified expression of the trucker careening towards the floor length window; her view of it lopsided from the angle of her head.

And as the glass shattered from the force of the eighteen wheeler, the rubber tires keening horribly, all she could think of was that her coffee wasn't as hot as it should be; she could tell because it had split open in her lap, body folded awkwardly over itself as her legs had flipped from the end of the now splintered chair, crushed under the sideways vehicle as ( _redredredredred)_ blood slid down her mangled form and into her hair, dripping down to mingle with the organs that had been exposed by the beam of wood ( _perhaps it had once been part of a bookshelf?)_ that had ruptured her stomach like a overripe pumpkin.

Maybe that's why all she could feel was a horrible buzz; a cacophony of agony melded into discordant white noise, and she didn't think she could feel the heat of her coffee anymore.

That was a shame, but at least all this ( _redredredredredredredredredrED)_ seemed warm enough.

Her eyes unfocused, and she found she couldn't bring her tongue to click that final time- well, that was just no good- after all, she hadn't finished her pattern yet. Why couldn't she finish her pattern? Maybe that was why everything had started to flicker and slow?

No, no, that wasn't right- everything had to keep moving ( _steadysteadyjustlikeaclock)_ but iT WasN'T AnD she didn't LiKe it. Asperger's syndrome, those doctors had said, combined with a mental instability-they had wanted to lock her away somewhere _cold_ but she didn't like the cold, so WhY WaS IT CoLd?!

Something crackled, and exploded in an inferno, and her vision ripped apart into black and flesh red.

In the numb, she fancied she could hear something clang like the final stroke of midnight. She smiled, ( _Oratleastshethoughtshedid_ ), and decided that it would have to do. It really was just no good that she couldn't feel her-self anymore.

 _What a pity._

…

The Void, she mused, wasn't very void-like. She walked barefoot across a glimmering mosaic of color that shifted and spun beneath her feet, occasionally bursting into fireworks of shattered glass and stars that soon melded together only to fit right back into the artwork that was this plane; another piece of a puzzle.

The velvety canvas that spanned above her was studded with silver lights and golden mist, reflecting the multicolored blaze that spilled from beneath the mosaic she walked upon, tendrils of pure white fog wrapping around her bodice the further she strode.

A clock murmured in the background, the repeating tics swaddling her in a warm embrace that she was content to listen to, slowly allowing her hyper aware mind to dull with the calm that was this mist. As such, she was rightfully startled when the ticking translated into the strong throb of a heartbeat, stilling her monotonous movement in unease.

The sound thrummed through the air, wakening a weak pulse in her, one that slowly uncurled a tentative touch of warmth through her ( _coldcoldcold)_ chest. The fog had turned thick without her noticing, clinging to her body like a second skin, and what had once been warm and comforting turned confused and cold in agitation.

A primal instinct surged her limbs into motion, and she _ran._

The fog contracted and pulled around her, constricting like narrowed walls, further serving to sharpen her mind as memories she had almost forgotten thrashed within her like an untamed beast, the blinding pain making her once smooth run stutter and falter.

The constant throb of the second ( _stronger_ ) heart began to slow.

Screaming out in fear and ( _idontknowwhattodopleaseidontknowWHY-)_ she forced herself onwards, unsure of when her eyes had shut as defense to the wild white light that intruded upon her, and for a moment she hung in space; mind clear from the utter panic that had suffused her- _and then she was FALLING._

 _…_

Her scream split the cold air as it ripped at her body, shouts of urgency only serving to terrify her as she unintentionally choked on something slimy that was being pulled away from her nose and mouth- her limbs felt heavy and it was all she could do to kick them out in petulance, mind spinning and barely registering the drawn-out beep that was met with cries of disbelief and horror, a grimness gripping her until she knew with utter certainty something had gone horribly wrong.

Her eyes pulled open barely, and she felt confusion hum through her mind as all she could perceive was a mesh of color that tripped around her blindly as she was moved from her previous position.

Dully aware that she had not ceased her wailing sob, her ears cleared, and suddenly she realized she had been picked up and was currently moving at a brisk pace while being cradled in someone's arms.

Her body had been restrained, so she freed what she thought to be her hand and tried her best to smack at whoever was carrying her, _because she wasn't an invalid dammit!_

Her thought processes blanked as she realized her finger tips barely brushed the person's chin, when she had always had a long-limbed figure.

Uncertainly, she sucked in a breath, and with a thought response that seemed too slow for her liking, utilized her retained memories to analyze the smell- disinfectant and blood was the most prominent, and with the blur of white and blue that was her vision, she belatedly noted that she was, indeed, in a hospital.

Her arm flopped down weakly and she opted instead to stare at the underside of the jaw of whoever was carrying her-or at-least until she was set down in a cushion of soft, what she assumed to be, pink blankets. Furrowing her brow, she attempted to say something- she didn't know what, but anything to prove that she hadn't felt glass pierce her throat; no matter how realistic that distanced memory felt.

"Grawwwh!"

The yelp tore itself from her throat, and she heard someone coo and tap at her cheek. Startling, because she hadn't noticed anyone approach, as well as _what the hell was that sound,_ she forced herself to focus properly on her situation, irritably batting at the intrusive hand as she struggled to make sense of her situation.

It wasn't until she registered the familiar tone of Japanese flow over her as she was in the middle of realizing she had _no teeth (what the hell, she hadn't been hit THAT hard-),_ that she made the idle observation that she felt remarkably like a baby.

….

Oh.

…

She _Screamed,_ and was gratified to hear someone screech in alarm and drop something heavy with a painful sounding ' _thunk'._

 _Godric DAMMIT, Reincarnation wasn't on her bucket list!_

 _._..

Everything from that point on had faded into a buzzed blur, her body rarely coherent enough to take note of her surroundings or situation- the most she had been able to understand was that she was in some sort of orphanage, leading her to the conclusion that her mother had most probably died in labor. ( _And she couldn't help but think, if she hadn't hesitated to run into the white fog, would the leading heartbeat still thrive?)_

The moments she did spend awake were filled with the sight of water damaged walls and ceilings, caging in a room full of shrieking infants and battered cribs- she could still recall, with alarming clarity, when one of the toddlers had found their way into the nursery and promptly proceeded to tip her crib over-where she had quickly developed an irrational fear of closed off places.

Being trapped under thick woolen blankets that stank of piss; while you tried desperately to breathe through the wooden slats of the crib upended over you; could do that to a woman.

Thankfully, the crib had already been on ground level so apart from a sharp throbbing pain along her legs and left arm, she was able to conclude she hadn't been injured too severely.

A small mercy, considering it had taken the nurses an entire hour to realize her predicament, according to her internal clock- although that might have been her fault, she conceded, since one would normally expect a child to scream when put into such a situation- not have their mind blank out and begin to focus on simply breathing. ( _A mental fall back, she presumed, from when her Asperger syndrome had become enough of a set-back that she had to have had a therapist fond of breathing exercises forced onto her. In. Out. In. Out. In-)_

That having been said, she had made a habit of carefully untangling herself from her blankets and pointedly refusing to sleep under them, even on winter nights, where a sharp chill would creep through the walls and send her small body into a shivering mess of dribbling snot and sickness.

After the first few times of this happening, the underpaid nurses and rare volunteers had given up on trying to smother her in warmth, and had slowly cut off the amount of medication and antibiotics wasted on her.

It hadn't taken longer than the few hours she was awake for her hackles to raise at her situation.

humiliation at her dependence on people, bitter wrath at her reincarnation, and pure, undiluted irritation at how easily the nurses had given up on her, had left her to die-

( _And maybe there had been an amount of hurt festering under the surface, because perhaps she had expected care and a brush of concern where it was undue. Stockholm syndrome, she had concluded fiercely- and when, indeed, had she begun to view these men and women as her jailors?)_

– and the thought had sent her into a silent fury that ripped at the nausea, yet another effect of the disease that had quickly begun to kill her off.

After all, her immunity system was _nothing_ in the face of an infection, one that clung to the nurses and the thick grime that coated the corners of the rooms. ( _The orphanage had reeked of death and silence those days.)_

Irony however, seemed determined to not be underestimated- for what else could it be called when the previously healthy children fell to the Shinigami, and the one child who should have died long ago from the same infection, was kept alive by the feel of a burning inferno under her skin?

But even when the infection had passed and old faces were replaced by new ones; and yet more children were carted into the orphanage; the inferno didn't fade.

It kept her warm through frigid nights and days, soon turning into something that she found she could channel carefully into different parts of her body, curiosity beckoning her to pass her days slowly manipulating the fleeting fire until she could do it almost naturally- the exercises kept her mind stimulated, and she began to time the flares of flame under her skin with a growing excitement, using them to create a pattern that hummed in her veins and pulled her into a deep calm that allowed her to think through her new life, if not accept it.

Reincarnated into a country where the main language is one you've heard only in passing during your old life? That's okay. Conform to it. Learn it. Adapt. And move on.

She found she still fell asleep inconsistently, which annoyed her, but until her brain was developed enough to accept a solid routine, she turned her attention to her motor skills, which were, in short, abysmal.

On that note, she was the first infant in the nursery to raise her head without help, and the drifting seasons found her beginning to hone her finger dexterity by carefully practicing putting them into a series of symbols, until she could do them at an acceptable pace, while she flung her legs randomly in the air- or so it looked.

Saying that, it would take her until she was at least a year old before she could do anything remotely resembling a proper bicycle kick, or until her finger exercises progressed from crossing her fingers, as well as closing and opening her fist, to something more complex.

…

Growing up hadn't been anything special to her, lost in her mind as she was- always planning, always experimenting, always _moving-_ and while this may not have been something of concern in a child, her movements weren't the gleeful tumbling of an infant, or the stumbling run of a child; no, they were much too refined for that. No movement was wasted, each step chosen with a deliberation that tended to get her to her goal much faster than her peers, in ways that would be classified as 'thinking outside of the box'; _("No, she didn't cheat in the race Misaki, what do you mean? No, of course no one said she couldn't just run backwards, all they said was that who-ever reached the tree first won!")_ and if that wasn't a point of interest enough, she stuck out like a wolf amongst sheep.

It was part of the fact that she would drown herself in books and any texts she could find for hours on end, whether it be a torn and forgotten manuscript missing its back cover, or a Japanese to Mandarin guide book, her young mind soaked it all up like a sponge- That did, of course, lead to _some_ difficulties on her end. She really shouldn't have tried to learn a new language while she wasn't even proficient at the one spoken natively in her country, since it nominally leads to her trying to practice her kanji, only to accidently slip into using English phrases and mandarin characters where her desired translations wouldn't fit into Kanji.

The other reason that made her an isolated form amongst the orphanage was that where most of the children were at-least distinctly Japanese in appearance, with saffron tinged pallor's, doe-like dark eyes, and a vary of warm hair colors, she had a complexion that slapped an instant label of ' _Bastard Child'_ upon her.

After all, as far as the staffs gossip reached, her mother had been Japanese, married to a British foreigner that had long since passed- so why, indeed, did their child have a medium olive complexion, with pitch dark hair and eyes that were prominently almond in shape, a feature both of her parents had been deprived of?

Her jaw was already an angular outline, with a straight nose and full, crooked, lips that gave her the impression of an asymmetrical face, the unbalance made more noticeable by her central heterochromia- her irises were both a burning cognac, intruded on by the rust red tone that seethed around her pupils, making them seem darker ( _deeper)_ than they were.

( _And if no-one could quite look straight into her eyes because of the quick-to-catch-fire embers of irritation that smoldered in their depths, well, the adults were the same, so maybe it didn't matter that much?)_

It must have been when she was around 6 years old, and had already garnered a reputation of being obsessive about routine, as well as never staying still long enough for anyone to crowd her, that the first signs of change encroached itself upon her life. It had started small at first, the building deteriorating until rooms had to be cordoned off under the charges of no longer being structurally sound, or until cleaning supplies became a luxury and water was scarcely used to rinse the floors. Then the poverty had hit the food stores, and at a bad time as well.

she had long since realized the orphanage was situated amongst the dirtied backstreets of a large city, where it was hard to traverse the tight streets without coming across some aspect of the thriving night life that bled over into day-light hours. Disease and Turf wars were the norm, and both had been in full swing; albeit the latter wasn't as noticeable; when there had been simply too many children to feed as the funds that were put into supplying the orphanage steadily dwindled.

She hadn't even noticed what had started to happen, not until the smiles of the staff had turned strained, eyes haunted with unrepentant guilt, until the healthier children began to taper down to a few of the younger ones, until the innocent question of " _Ne, where did Misaki-San go?"_ made the staff turn shifty eyed and cautious.

After that, she had begun to finally tune into the wavelength the lives around her seemed to operate on, spending more time observing the tattooed men that occasionally walked through the doors and cast a look about the children as though they were naught but cattle. It really didn't take long to connect the dots after that. Selling children to the local Yakuza, and wasn't that a horror?

Her lip curled in disgust ( _fear)_ as more and more children disappeared, until the others seemed to cotton on and started keeping their heads down, trying not to stand out. This was the part she hated- where the others could easily blend into the crowd of muted and subdued children, suppressing themselves until they were unremarkable; she couldn't cue up to get food from the care-takers without drawing attention to her looks- somehow, she reflected as she pressed herself into the wood of the wall behind the open door of the lounge area, this had led to her stealing food from the kitchens when there was the least activity around.

Now, as she bore witness to one of the dealings, she found herself regretting the choice. It sounded like they hadn't selected any one yet, but were paying for the ones they had taken before- ( _After all, it was so easy to hand someone a gun and say 'shoot' -)_ But had come with a special quota this time around. She slipped away before anything could be said, unwilling to tangle herself with the yakuza, no matter how indirectly. No, she had much too much will to live for that.

The next day found her cowering pathetically in the shadows of her assigned and shared room, glaring balefully at the sunlight drifting through the windows; open to let any whispers of breeze in. Sweat ran down her skin in rivulets despite her lack of physical exertion, herself breathing shallowly through her mouth- she would have been all out panting if not for her pride. The inferno pulsing within her skin made her flushed and bothered, and she found herself cradling the glass of water reluctantly given to her as though it were a life line. Dammit, this was why she hated the summers.

"I wasn't aware this particular room had been hit by a heat wave."

The old man sitting on the smallest bed in the room mused aloud finally, after having been simply sitting there and observing her struggle in a thoughtful silence for what, to her inexplicable grasp of time, told her had been over 30 minutes. He was a slight figure, dressed in a traditional hakama that, to her calculating eyes, seemed to swamp him. His face was pockmarked, eyes squinted in a way that made her think of a mixed, Chinese heritage, with balding silver hairs combed thinly over his spotted scalp.

She twitched from where she was slumped against the wall, lips turning down in displeasure, the right corner of her mouth further so than the left. Even so, she refused to acknowledge him, instead stretching out further in hopes of reducing her body heat- the motion was quickly aborted as she reflexively jerked into the fetal position, the cramp in her side burning viciously.

She was aware of the old man frowning in thought, even as she increased the circulating of her Fire in hopes of easing the pain- if anything it got worse.

"Shit…."  
she hissed breathlessly, uncomfortably aware of the short black hair sticking wetly to the back of her neck as the floor boards creaked under the weight of the old man standing- a moment later his frail hand was pressed firmly against her forehead, and she instinctively batted away his hand at the same moment as her Fire was coursing through the arm she had used. His eye-brow quirked in surprise, even as he moved his hand with the motion to presumably avoid taking damage- even so, he rubbed absent mindedly at it.

"You're going to die of dehydration or overheating in a few minutes."

He informed her cheerily, and her lips curled into a snarl- the fact that her lips were unaligned enough to expose a glimpse of her rather noticeable canines did nothing to deter his abruptly cheerful aura.

"I…wo…will…. n-…. -ot…"

She snarled shallowly, and he patted her head in a patronizing manner- if she had the strength to bite him, she would. As it was, she settled for a horribly offended expression.

He chuckles, and picks her up in a bridal carry- immediately, she stiffens, and attempts to jerk out of his grip- a cold sense of shock descends upon her as she realizes that his seemingly frail arms are holding her tightly enough that her arms are pinned uselessly against his chest. Her jaw tightens in rage, and she does her best to thrash in his grip- and would have, if her limbs weren't deadening with a fatigue that made her dry throat crack from her internal heat. She blacks out briefly as he casually strolls outside into a patch of sunlight, making her _burn;_ and stutters awake just as he moves quickly through winding back streets. Panic jerks in her chest, and if her vision wasn't swimming, she would most probably have done something rash.

They come to a stop, and the old man leans down into her personal space, eyes curved into a shit eating smile- she squints sluggishly at him, a moment before h _e heaves_ and she's flung through the air. Her limbs spasm in shock, and her eyes widen a moment before she hits the surface of a water source and is submerged. The fresh water burns her eyes, and she shutters them closed, inhaling water- in that moment, her Fire desserts her as sheer terror disrupts her routine, and she's aware she's sinking like a stone. Her lungs and chest burn with the pain of being weighted by water and she's choking on it in a way that makes her vision flicker black.

( _She's scared)_

 _(SherememberstheredredredredrED)_

Desperately, because she's so _cold,_ she calls upon her Fire and it swirls confusedly in her veins.

( _sHe DOeSn'T WaNt to DiE)_

 _(She's….so…. AnGRy-)_

 _(HerFlamesSurge)_

She kicks upward with strength that should have left her, and she's familiar enough with her Fire that she feels it pulsing solely within her legs, a sliver forcefully making her heart beat as though it were a voluntary muscle. She forces her eyes open, squints at the murky surface of the water, and her thighs burn with the amount of Flames she forces into the muscles- another kick, and this one _shoots_ her upward rather than propel her, and she's breaking the surface with enough force that her entire upper body is thrown upward rather than just her head, before gravity jerks her down again.

She spends a moment hacking out enough water to breathe, before her memories from her past life kick in, and she allows the current of what she recognizes to be a river to sweep her downstream even as she cuts diagonally towards the banks in an awkward breast-stroke.

She crawls out on her knees, shivering as she heaves and hacks out lung-fulls of water, her Fire forcefully pushing her lungs into choking out the water even if it should need external pressure to get that much out. She takes a moment to examine in awe as her Fire continues pumping her heart for her, until the muscle stutters back to life and allows it to thread itself away slowly. The crunch of gravel brings her attention to the old man who looks cheerfully down at her, eyes razor sharp.

"At least now you won't die of de-hydration."  
he comments as though it's the weather and he hadn't just attempted to _drown a three-year-old child,_ and she spares a moment to realize and marvel that this man is a complete and utter _retard,_ before she stumbles to her bare feet, white dress plastered to her skin.

She eyes his sandals, then the dirty streets covered in broken glass and what not, decides she can just burn away any infections with her Fire, and walks in the direction she knows the orphanage is.

"What, no comment to spare for an old man like me on this fine day?"

" _Your more insane than I am_."  
She mutters under her breath in English as she tries her best to avoid dirty water and bent needle tips.

(That, she finds, is the wrong thing to say since he follows her for the rest of the after-noon with open curiosity.)

…

 _'_ _The girl is strange'_ , Hibari Hajime thinks as he follows her through the orphanage. She's an exotic little thing, all firm lines and sharp edges, where many praised the Japanese for their soft lines and calm countenances. She's certainly insane, in a way that has him chewing over her behavior like a particularly hard puzzle. Its pleasantly refreshing. Where most children would have died, she rose with enough force to startle him- where other children would have been traumatized by the events and possibly had a mental break down, she simply got up and made her way back to the orphanage to continue her routine. And that's not even getting into the fact that she shouldn't have known how to swim, or how to speak in English, since none of the staff here seemed to speak it proficiently- a genius maybe?

What further amused him was that she showed absolutely no signs of fear or terror when faced with the man who had almost killed her following her around like clockwork, except for a wary glance at his hands, which he had used to restrain her; or that she kept conveniently out of grabbing range. Not that it would have stopped him if he was really trying, but the point still stands. What was even more curious was that, giving no though to propriety, she had walked around in the dripping wet dress without care, despite the fact it couldn't have been comfortable. When admonished by a care taker, she had glanced at him and said with wry sarcasm-

"I'd rather not after he went through all the trouble of helping me in this heat."

How _strange._

He observed her eat her dinner, rubbing idly at the stinging sensation burning at the back of his hand- glancing down at it, he raised his eye-brow at the yellow black bruise, and was quietly glad he hadn't tried to take her hitting his hand away head on. God knows the girl didn't know her own strength- no, your _wooden chop stick_ wasn't supposed to _dent the metal table_ on accident. The thought found him wondering how the Yakuza that had come before him had missed the sheer opportunity in the girl. Granted, she was about as much use as a dying goat if you left her in the heat, but she was still _something._ The fact she seemed perfectly willing to stare the staff members into submission for more food was just a bonus.

Smiling in the way he knew unnerved his men, he turned to the bulky man beside him, all ripped muscle and thinly veiled guns in holsters, and gestured gracefully at the little girl who had grabbed the boy trying to take her food's hand in her own and was _squeezing it,_ and said-

"I want that one."

There was a short scream, and the sound of bone crunching.

"…. Of course, Wakagashira-san. *"

 **(*Second in command within a Yakuza Family.)**

…

She stilled in her bed as the door creaked open, and one of the women from the staff fluttered in, long skirts swishing in the lantern light that filtered through the door way. The intruder strode uneasily towards her bed, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. She cracked her eyes open fully in acquiesce, and was greeted by eyes that slid away from hers, unable to keep eye-contact.

….

….

Oh, was it her turn then?

She sucked on her left canine in a nervous tic as she followed the woman- it wasn't as though she was getting any sleep anyways. Her mind seemed keen on replaying her near drowning until it had burnt the vision into the back of her eye-lids- it was strange, because she hadn't thought herself affected by it. Perhaps it was her adult subconscious bending under the realization she had almost died, once again?

She found that happening a lot- where when she was awake she was perfectly content to drift along at her own pace and wasn't unduly concerned over the mind-numbing language books she read; she would fall asleep to a bone deep fatigue that told her that the ease of which she took up linguistics came with a price that taxed her adult mentality and understanding.

She squinted her eyes against the sudden glare of light as the woman swung the lounge door open, and blinked rapidly to adjust to the lighting, even as her gaze swept over the men in the room- she took in that they were all standing in the way of possible exits, angled in a way that they could easily make their way to the focus of the room. Professionals, then, yet not subtle enough about it to the point an untrained civilian could pick it up.

Her lips tightened as her jaw locked at the sight of the familiar old man sitting easily in the middle of the room, eyes curved into what she was beginning to see as his signature smile.

"This is Hibari-san, he'll…be your new care taker from now on, okay?"

She twitched, eyes flicking over the men once again like a cornered animal- it eased her somewhat that her Fire only stuttered once at the disruption before reluctantly continuing its routine, calming her to a certain degree. Even so, she didn't move forwards despite the staff member's gentle shove between the shoulder-blades- moving forward would effectively box her in within the range of all the men.

Chuckling, Tanesha stood up with the aid of a 5-foot-long staff, using it a bit like one would a cane as he made his way out of the orphanage. Seeing that she was expected to follow him, she strode briskly forwards into the middle of the formation that picked up casually around the man. She was uncomfortable knowing she was within easy grabbing range, but there was a spark of morbid curiosity that moved her onward toward the black vehicle parked beside a street-lamp.

 _How curious._

 _…_

They eventually ended up in a Dojo. It was traditional to say the least, all tatami floors and patterned shoji, with a passage way connecting to what seemed to be the main house, situated in a rather large compound.

It was in a considerably open area, despite how close it was to what seemed to be the red-light district- she supposed that was attributed to being on the edges of the city, leading to acres of private property around the complex in way of fields and an old out of works canal; the main road they had broken off far away from the slightly contrite mansion.

She stood warily in front of her new guardian, experiencing a surprising lack of fear- it was more of a detached amusement that would remain in that state unless her timed schedule was prodded too far off track, which was…. she noted idly that she was dangerously close to her tipping point. Too many interruptions in a condensed time span? So perhaps this is what the calm before the storm felt like.

She stared at the man, waiting coolly for him to speak. She hadn't been brought to what seemed to be the main compound, nor tied up or restricted in any manner, meaning there wasn't any malicious intent focused on her while she continued being less than a threat to their system- the fact the old man had singled her out specifically and not bought the children in bulk hinted at him having his own agenda for her. Her Fire flared in annoyance as he calmly watched her, having folded himself into a seiza position in front of a low table decked out with calligraphy brushes and ink wells. ( _What was he waiting for?! hE WaS wAsTinG HeR TiMe!)_

after a moment, she realized she was waiting for her to join him, and she bristled like a cat stroked the wrong way. Her jaw set stubbornly and her Flames purred in agreement, even if it felt like its metaphorical hackles had been raised as well. She was hardly going to defer to him with a respect he had not earned. And if there was a fair bit of childish spite in the action, well, she was hardly going to admit to it.

The man smirked in a satisfied manner, as though she had passed some sort of expectation- the thought made her lips curl into a scowl, the misalignment of them flashing her overly sharp canines warningly.

"Temperamental, aren't you child? My given name is Hibari Hajime, what is yours?"  
She stilled at the mention of the name, and her Flames jolted in time with her startling. Hibari….?

"…. I never bothered to learn mine."

She responded after a few minutes of studying the growing dread of realization that had curled up in her stomach. Her Fire….

"How unfortunate. Hm…. I shall call you Mirai."

He decided, and she off handedly noticed and appreciated how he didn't claim it to be her new name, a phrasing which would have implied his trying to decide something for her, thus stating he was superior to her and expected her obedience. She allowed a grudging respect to surface, and her scowl faded minutely. From the cheery smirk the old man shot her, he noticed it.

"…Do you expect me to join the Yakuza?"

She questioned, at the same time she tuned into the frequency of her Fire. It couldn't be…. ( _Aneyesearingvioletflashedbehindhereyelids.)_

"I expect you to be my chosen heir to my fighting style. My wife taught our daughter hers, but before I could pass on my teachings to our next child, my partner died and my daughter has already wandered off with some police officer."

He drawled, offering a seemingly useless bit of information. If she hadn't seen his dark eyes flash an in-depth indigo, and felt something try to slip into her Fire, she might have dismissed it as well.

' _Mist Flames,' She thought, and then wondered why the term had come to mind._

Her Fire flared angrily in response, yet the foreign flickers slipped past them, like trying to catch water in a net.

( _Hibari Hajime. His daughter's lover could have taken her name? Hibari Kyoya had Cloud Flames with a secondary mist, the mist passed on through his mother's side? Cloud Flames…. Dying Will Flames of the Cloud…. Dying will?)  
_ The pieces flickered through her mind like pieces of a puzzle, and she latched onto it with all the desperation of a drowning woman.

( _Will.)_

Before the, now recognized, Mist Flames, could move further into her body, she delved into her Flames, welcoming the piercing Violet that flared behind her closed eye lids ( _When had she closed her eyes?)_ with none of the previous confusion, Mind detaching itself from her emotions and slipping into an analytical thought process. It was an old coping mechanism, from Before. Realizing she couldn't identify the intrusive flames that masqueraded as her own, she carefully curled her control ( _will)_ around what was _hers_ , halting its erratic pulsating. She forced the unstable Flames into a timed beat, soothing herself with the repetitive ticks. The mist flames didn't catch on to the now uniform Flame pattern, and she purged it from her system instinctively.

She slipped back into her mind, and noted idly that she was on her back, and couldn't seem to rise from the lethargic weight of her body. Suddenly, the thought of reincarnation she had carefully repressed came down on her with all the unceremonious grace of a tap dancing whale, and she passed out for real.

' _Of all the worlds, why the one with the technicolored Mafia, murderous Skylarks, and Retarded pineapples?'_

 _…_

 _She watched her class from her seat in the corner, her fingers flipping a black ink-pen in a dulling motion- her hands and arms were stained randomly with ink from where she had dropped or stabbed herself with her writing utensils; the profits of which were splayed out in-front of her in the form of mini-caricatures. Most were chibi versions of her favorite anime characters, with the rare few full body sketches of their gender-bent versions._

 _Her eyes drifted to a clean lined sketch of a female Hibari Kyoya and Rokudo Mukuro standing back to back, weapons held defensively, before she swept them all into a pile and out of sight._

 _A moment later, the lunch bell rang and her only, and closest, friend in the university jogged in, grin cheery as she waved at someone out of sight. Someone from her other friend circles._

 _She pursed her lips and looked away, feeling a prickle of ice wrap around her chest- it wasn't jealously per-say, but she hated being second best; a side dish if you will. Something you attended to with much less vigor than you had the main dish. An afterthought._

 _Her friend dropped into the seat beside her, and excitedly began to blubber on about her day- she gave plastic smiles in response, humming where necessary to seem interested, and waited patiently for her turn to speak. It never came. Her smile slipped off her face, and she knew if she attempted conversation at all, she would come off as passive aggressive. Looking towards the teacher that had entered the class, her lip curled back into a minute snarl. Yes, she rather hated those who couldn't give her their complete loyalty. It wasn't as though she needed a companion to finish her university courses anyways…._

 _Needy. Selfish. Childish. Immature. Jealous. Creepy. Unloved. Freak. Different._

 _Those were her labels, but their barbed words never pierced her thick skin._

 _(or maybe she just didn't let them see her bleed?)_

 _…_

Her breath shuddered out of her chest, hitching as she woke to the feeling of her eyes burning uncomfortably behind her eye lids. Everything was going wrong, and _she couldn't do anything about it._ Hiding her intelligence was out of the question- if the old man knew she understood enough that telling her the truth of her presence would unbalance her, then holding back now wouldn't help her in any shape or form. Not that she would give him her knowledge, but she wasn't going to pretend to be slow.

The burning intensified, and after confirming that her Flames were currently cycling through her legs, she came to the horrified realization that she was moments away from _crying._ Okay, calm down, and take inventory.

 ** _Location-_** _Yakuza complex, presumably within a dojo. Close to the Red-Light district of a city._

 ** _Situation-_** _In the care of Hibari Hajime, who expects her to carry on his fighting style. Seems highly implausible, as considering her knowledge of Hibari Kyoya, he wouldn't go out of his way to help a 'Herbivore' as it was. But then again…the old man is a mist, and the future skylark would be a cloud._

 ** _Most likely conclusion-_** _Simply put, the Old man was bored. If so, screw him._

 ** _Personal State-_** _She had been using Cloud Flames (At least she thought so, going by the coloring-) her whole life, most likely awakened by her unholy rage at being reincarnated._

 _Might have secondary Flames, although that was unlikely. She could feel tatami under her, meaning she had probably collapsed in the Dojo, and he had left her there. That's good, meant the world wasn't going to fall apart completely- If a Hibari could still be sadistic, the world would continue turning._

 ** _Intentions-_** _She didn't have a choice. Running away was out of the question, if he wanted an heir this badly he wasn't going to let her run off. She had a higher chance of surviving if she complied and learnt his combat style._

 ** _Notes-_** _She was pissed at being placed into the situation of any SI ever. Unluckily, every SI ever, never got to live a peaceful life as a farmer. She was probably going to end up in the Mafia; come hell or high water; or even her fighting tooth and nail. Dammit._

 ** _Most Likely Conclusion-_** _she would live longer if she learned from a Hibari, though she would have to be careful not to get tangled up with the Yakuza- if she was lucky, she could still get the glamorous job of a convenience store worker!_

 _…_

 _…_

She was doomed.

Repressing a groan of discomfort, she cracked open her; thankfully non-watery; eyes to the glorious view of spotless tatami, and peeled her face off the floor. She could feel the imprints of the textured surface across the left side of her face, and it was after she had levered herself onto her knees, that she noticed gray blue sunlight feeding through a shut shoji screen.

Ignoring the fact, she had passed out long enough for dawn to break, she staggered to her feet and pulled it open, squinting at the thrown open balcony right in front of her.

Between the two entrances was a strip of hard wood corridor, and she belatedly realized she had probably first been led into, not a dojo, but rather the greeting area of a house.

But, considering her caretaker was a Hibari, the place was probably half Dojo, or reinforced in some way.

Sighing, she walked out onto the patio like garden, settling down to stare at the cloudy skies; idly noting that she was still garbed in thin cotton pajamas that stuck to her in the humid air. The sky rumbled, and the first of the summer showers began. She sighed, and didn't bother moving.

At the very least, she could expect an iron hard routine from the old man. She paused then, feeling a frown crease her brow as her eyes followed the pattern of the wooden floors- Before, the moment anything so much as shifted in her routine, she would have completely snapped. _So why wasn't she doing so now?_

Something hot began to force itself up her throat, and she flexed her fingers repetitively, before coming to the quiet realization.

This body wasn't meant to have Asperger's Syndrome; wasn't _wired_ for it.

 _She was an outsider wearing the skin of a child (OHGODWHATHADSHEDONE), and the only reason she was still functioning, coping, is because she had fallen back into her old mannerisms; trying to force some familiarity on to this world. (TRIEDTOFOOLHERSELFANDENDEDUPTHEFOOL)_

But this wasn't home, and It WasN'T HeLpInG.

"Oh god,"

She choked out, and the water that streamed down her cheeks was warmer than the rain, and tasted vaguely of salt, burning as they fell from her eyes in thick droplets. Her lips didn't curl, simply opening so that she could exhale unsteady breaths, her face stilled instead of contorting as she stared blankly at the tears splashing across her folded hands like a branding iron.

Why was she crying? She hadn't cried when she first realized she was reincarnated, so she didn't deserve to cry now- ( _Pleasei'mnotevenachildyet)_ , She was a grown woman who had _murdered_ the body of something that could have been; and wasn't this like how that girl back in university had reacted when she ignored the kitten in the rain and came back to see it dead the next day?

 _(Kittenintherainandnoonesgoingtopickyouup)_

A bitter laugh escaped in in a stilted whoosh of air when she realized that although she couldn't, this body knew instinctively how to react to such situations. _She didn't deserve it._

She stilled once again, watching with hollow eyes as the shower turned into a downpour. That was a dangerous thought, wasn't it?

She remembered taking Psychology back in University. Those sorts of thoughts took you dark places; she couldn't bring herself to disgrace what she had stolen like that.

 _What she had stolen?_

 _Why couldn't she just say it, that she had no right to be here._

 _That she was a –_

 _…_ _._

 _She was a Body Snatcher._

 _…_

She knew she shouldn't, but it was the only way she knew how to react, so she forced a cracked giggle from her vocal cords, kept on doing it until it became easier, until her hysterical laughter drowned out the rain in broken breaths that grew louder the more tears fell from her eyes.

It continued well into the dawn, when the rising sun painted her an orange red, and the sky turned a shade of forget me not that shed the dark clouds like an old skin.

It was how the old man found her, curled up and drenched as she snickered brokenly in a wheezing tone that rasped her strained voice.

He sighed, watching her unreadably as she appeared to ignore him.

"…Perhaps using Mist Flames on her when her mind hasn't properly developed was a bad idea."

He mused, and pretended he didn't feel the age inappropriate spike of killing intent that burst from the child in jagged and uncontrolled spikes.

…Definitely a cloud.

* * *

 **So, before anyone calls me out on the 'death by car accident', i actually chose the method of death by basing it off one of my more irrational fears; me or my family getting hit if we don't stick to the sidewalks.**

 **Anyways, another thing to note is that my Cloud is around the same age as Xanxus at this moment, and i wont be jumping her straight into being a member of the Varia- there's going to be a lot of arcs before that, and i want to focus mainly on relationship building. To those wondering about my other story, im not dropping it, i just hit a bit of a road block.**

 **Thanks for reading all the way to the end!~**


	2. Kitten in the Rain, Part 2

**A/N- T for swearing? Does Shit even count?**

* * *

She breathed out slowly, feeling sweat drip down her flushed skin in streams. That was good. It was when she stopped sweating that the main problem arose. Her eyes were closed, but instead of black all she could see was a wealth of violet, different shades of it twining together in lazy tendrils that flickered with instability; and as she watched them attempt to drift freely only to snap back to attention and continue the restraining flame pattern she had created like a half-asleep guard dog, she felt something uncomfortably close to guilt swilling in her stomach.

She remembered taking Flame type quizzes in the Before, when this world was an idle past time to curl stories around- she had always gotten a Cloud nature, but the controlling Mist had been a close second.

…. But Cloud Flames weren't supposed to be controlled, were they?

Channeled maybe, but not controlled. Then again, according to the old man, they weren't supposed to be trying to cook her inside out without her consent either.

Grimacing, she forced herself to look at the eye searing colors closer- they always seemed more vibrant when she went into 'meditation', rather than when she simply dipped back onto its wavelength. She could sense the old man's flame signature beside her, His Mist Flames curling into complex shapes before smoothly transferring onto the next one like some weird bastardization of katas.

Sighing for the 5th time in 3 minutes when she realized she was stalling trying to release her flames, she forcefully made herself look at them- They were all moving routinely in one direction, and she fancied she could feel the tension under her skin as they resisted being so uniform and submissive. Or she could still be mildly insane. Even if this body wasn't configured for her past life's syndrome, Insanity wasn't something you were wired for. It was something you simply _were._

Hesitantly, she slowly stopped consciously- (subconsciously? Was it still subconscious if you were consciously accessing your subconscious?) trying to force them into a timed beat.

It felt a bit like slowly loosening your grip on a rope, only to realize the rope led off a cliff and was tied to a heavy carton of lemons delivered to you by life, and so not only did you get severe rope burn, you also couldn't get control back over the momentum.

She made an odd wheezing noise as her flames _ripped_ through her body like a high chipmunk on a unicycle that finally made it in time for happy hour, and slowly tilted her head forwards until she face-planted ungracefully into the sand in front of her.

She heard the old man cackle quietly to himself as she waited out the muscle spasms that had occurred as result, grumpily awaiting when her flames would calm down long enough to realize they were kinda sorta killing their host. Slowly. And why the hell was she personifying her Flames? Can she even do that? Oh well, no one had ever accused her of being _rational._

' _I'm calling you Murasaki, because I'm unoriginal, Murasakino means purple in Japanese, and I have a bad habit of shortening names.'_

Thankfully, her Flames didn't reply. She was fairly certain you'd have to be more unreasonable than insane to expect technicolored rave lights to talk to you. No, she didn't care this stuff was practically her life force. _Technicolored Rave Lights._

….

….

The heat may be getting to her. Just a little bit.

She didn't dare move when she felt her flames slowly die down to a couple of embers, that settled comfortably under her skin, awaiting a reason to ignite with all the unholy fury of a 6-year-old. Well, a Cloud Flame driven one, but there was only so much she could do other than start a big bonfire.

Fighting down the panic bubbling in her chest at the fact she could no longer feel the soothing rhythm, she took a moment to realize that once again she had slipped into her breathing exercises, and that the only reason she hadn't inhaled sand was because she had tilted her head slightly as she fell.

 _You don't have Asperger's anymore. You don't need it. See? You're perfectly fine. The lack of routine can't trigger your mental instability into giving you a panic attack. Its fine. You'll be FiNe._

"She's really pathetic, isn't she?"

A young voice asked scornfully, and she felt annoyance course through her. Forcefully, she pushed herself to her knees, feeling the limbs shake with exhaustion from the sudden lack of strength in them. Oh right, Cloud Flames' attribute was propagation, wasn't it?

It would make sense then, if she had been accidently increasing the strength and force in her limbs by coursing it through them. That…would take some getting used to.

She raised her head to glare at whoever was in front of her from behind the hair that had fallen into her face, steadily darkening cognac eyes clashing with brilliant green ones- the boy was clearly not Japanese either, going by his bright red hair, but she found herself unable to sympathize with the shorter 5-year-old any more than she might with a particularly infuriating toddler.

She had been with the old man for at least 3 months now, but she had only learned his other apprentices name a few days ago- Okuri. Until then, she had referred to him, both verbally and mentally, as;

"Lobster."

"O-K-U-R-I,"

He snarled, before adding in a faux dismissive tone.

"Or are you still just as illiterate as before?"

She scowled, and pushed backwards on the heels of her palms, rolling the rest of her hand with the motion on seeming instinct- the momentum rocked her back onto the balls of her feet, and she smoothly straightened to her full height; a full 2 inches taller than the 3'5 boy.

From what she had understood by listening in on the old man's conversations while going through her katas, the boy was the son of the Oyabun; the Syndicate head; and had been given to her old man as a student- the only reason he had agreed to teach the squirt had been because if he did, the Oyabun said he could take on an apprentice of his choosing.

Granted, he probably didn't expect the apprentice to be a Cloud, or he wouldn't have agreed to having her not be part of the syndicate, and rather as a simple tenant under the old man.

Another thing she had recently found out was how weird people in underground circles were about Clouds- something about 'The ultimate guard-dog'. Or something.

"As you are cognizant of, considering the league my vocabulary is in, in comparison to your own makes you seem rather hypocritical when you provoke me in such a manner, as it encourages me to flaunt said mental concordance in a manner suited to disparaging your extrapolated guise."

She drawls, making sure to keep her tone aloof and worlds concise. When she's gratified with a blank look, followed by an embarrassed flush when the old man rises to his feet and gives him an amused look that says,

' _Biting off too much again?'_

she ruins her projected superiority, by smirking, and adding patronizingly-

"Lobster."

He snarls and leaps at her, the bo staff that had until now been lax in his grip swinging for her head- though his stance is perfect, she ducks easily, darting forwards under the weapon- without missing a beat, he flicks his wrist, causing it to pin wheel to bar her path.

Rolling her eyes, because although his form is well practiced and executed, he consistently forgets that most of the times, when he challenges her, its outside of spars- meaning, she can play dirty as much as she likes, and the old man wont force her to do remedial katas for not using the taught movements.

She places her foot firmly on the part of the diagonally held practice staff that's held close to the ground, before willing her cloud flames to spark.

They surge, and floods her legs- she kicks off with enough force to _splinter_ the length of wood, and she just about glimpses his eyes widening in shock, before she's flipping in the air and coming down with her left leg swinging to crunch sharply into his shoulder.

Though satisfied when she hears something give followed by his stifled yelp of pain, she fumbles her landing, having hit him with higher up her calf than necessary- she's unable to use her other leg to balance the momentum, and so instead of rolling with the maneuver and landing on her feet, she falls backwards, landing heavily on her elbows as he crumples to the ground clutching his damaged shoulder; her leg slides off with an anticlimactic thump.

"What the hell was that?"

The old man demands, and she groans internally when she realizes she's going to be using that move, and that move only, for the next 3 hours until she's perfected it against his illusions. And not the humanoid kinds either. No, he thinks it's _fun_ to sic her against copious amounts of mutated animals. Mainly Skylarks. Narcissistic old men….

"And you,"

He says firmly, frowning at the Lobster, who winces at his tone.

"You need to learn how to incorporate Lightning Flames into your attacks- if you had hardened your staff, you would still be fighting after she failed her landing."

"'Hai, Shishou.'"

They chorus, and she allows her Flames to die down once again. She was going to be facing Flame exhaustion soon anyways, but she wasn't going to hasten the process either.

She frowns when she feels the panic begin to resurface now that she no longer has a distraction, and tilts her head back to stare at the azure bled skies. Sparse clouds drifted past, and at the sensation of the lazy breeze that shepherded them swaying her chin length hair and rustling the sakura trees, she felt herself calming down slightly, marveling at the subtle warmth of the sun hat no-longer felt as though it was trying to burn her alive.

She could hear the old man chattering on about how to use Lightning Flames to the Lobster; the only reason she hadn't been called from the Tsukiyama garden yet. Standing, she trotted over to drop onto the area of the garden taken over by lush emerald grass; the dew sparkled in the sunlight and threw aquamarine shadows from the small decorative lake filled with koi fish, yet all she had eyes for were the sapphire heavens. Maybe it was a Cloud thing?

She snickered at the thought, before blinking and squinting as the old man loomed over to give her a _look_.

She twitched, briefly considered running, deemed it fruitless, and settled for poking him sharply in the cheek with her index finger bent slightly, before darting back towards the shoji screens that marked the entrance of the house, pretending that the old man wouldn't have any trouble catching her if he really wanted to.

…

The Wakagashira would have trouble catching Mirai even if he really wanted to.

Okuri stared as his training pattern all but _tore_ past him, feet flying over the hardwood floors and tatami mats of the side complex, making her way towards the Dojo area with surprising accuracy considering that her speed was enough so that he got minor whiplash trying to follow her progress- as she went, he noted that her eyes had flared a bright violet, and silently marked the unnatural prowess yet another Cloud trait.

He frowned, staring at his hands as he willed his Flames to surface, but the attempt just left him feeling emptier than before, and twice as awkward.

His cheeks warmed, and he scowled at his fists in annoyance. This was stupid. The only reason the Oyabun ( _Nothisfatherneverhisfather)_ was encouraging the strange practice was because of the loosened lips of mafioso found in his domain.

And it was stupid too, the only reason they knew he was a Lightning user was because of a child hood incident that had green lightning crackling over his skin- for a while, it had been great, the Oyabun had shown more interest in him when he realized that his son had the slightest of uses.

But then the mafioso had mentioned Clouds; of how _great_ they were for securing territory due to their animalistic like personality traits, which not only made sure no one _dared_ to encroach on their claimed regions, but if they belonged to a syndicate, the sheer _reputation_ around them would be one hell of a popularity boost; and that had been that.

Suddenly resentful that his Son wasn't up to par, never mind he could _make himself bullet proof and harden his body enough to shatter steel,_ He had spent who knows how long searching for a Cloud to force into service.

Then his Wakagashira had gone and found one, and he couldn't lay a finger on Mirai because he had said he wouldn't touch the man's apprentice if he took his son under his wing.

Now, it was a waiting game- either she would take to this territory; the symptoms when they were getting close to it being a sudden irrational possessiveness; or she would have suitors thrown at her until she chose one to pass her bloodline on.

…It pissed him off, mainly because of the sheer _bull headedness everyone but the Wakagashira were displaying._ It had been 3 months already, and he had done everything from borrowing her staffs without permission to trespassing in her room and most frequented areas, and the most extreme action she had graced him with was a faintly annoyed look.

The Wakagashira had tried to report to the Oyabun as well, that the only sign she was a Cloud was her Flame Signature, and that he suspected her mindset had been rewired due to something that might have happened in the past.

Apart from a severe case of claustrophobia, mild insanity, a weird amount of maturity combatted by her sheer spite, and an aversion to touching anything she didn't know the express purpose of; either because unreasonable paranoia was part of her more insanity derived traits, or because she was just stupidly cautious; She wasn't someone you'd suspect to be a Cloud.

Indeed, she showed behavioral patterns more suited to either Storms or Mists, _so why didn't the Oyabun understand; that sHe WaS UsElEsS to HiM and He WasN'T?!_

 _…_

 _(…. Wasn't he enough…...?)_

 _…_

Okuri scowled at his thoughts, and picked up his staff, slipping into the familiar movements of his kata. If he couldn't get recognition for his Flames, he would get it for his fighting prowess!

…

( _But You'll just pale in comparison to her, won't you? After all, she's so strong, she once cracked a wall and splintered her Bo staff when she swung it too hard.)_

 _…_

…. The Wakagashira said that was a bad thing, that she couldn't control her strength.

…

( _He also said she would be a UsEfUl berserker, even if Bo-staffs aren't their preferred weapons. Still better than you.)_

 _…_

 _"_ _Man, that is one hell of an inferiority complex~"_

Someone whistled in surprise, and he started, fumbling his kata so bad that his Bo Staff tumbled from his nerveless fingers. He flexed them in confusion, abruptly realizing that it was darker than the dead outside. Frowning, he turned to glare up at Mirai, scowling.

"What was that, * **binporu**?!"

(* **Binporu means Beanpole; a term used to describe tall and thin people.)**

"I said, you have one hell of an inferiority complex."

She repeats in an indifferent tone, eyes flicking over him once, before it slid off to the side as though she was unsure of the socially acceptable time to look at someone for.

Or she just didn't think he was worth her time. It was probably the latter, after all, Mirai knew nearly everything there was to know.

"I don't, and even if I did, what the hell is it to you, you freak binporu?!"

He challenged, even if he wasn't all that sure what he was challenging her on. Her face impassive, she turned too old eyes on him, and he stiffened faintly under her cool stare- her eyes were a pretty cognac that seemed iridescent even in the dark, but the effect was ruined by the blood like tone that seeped out into it from her pupil; the color looking like it didn't belong in the iris but rather on someone else.

He scowled sulkily, noting that the only expressions she had shown since he had seen her were impassive, neutral, lazy, bored, or smirky.

(He would never admit it, but the fact her lip exposed her canines whenever she smirked freaked him out to an unhealthy degree.)

…. Okay, maybe she was a bit more Cloud like than he gave her credit for.

 _"_ _I could tell you,"_

She muses, eyes finally lifting from his own to flick to the side once again, almost restlessly, before she added-

 _"_ _But you don't have a superiority complex as well, and I don't want to give you one on accident and cause you to turn into another duck head."_

"…. What?"

"Nothing that concerns you, really."

She placates before adding that the Wakagashira was making dinner and if he didn't want 'the old man' eating all of it, he should probably hurry it up. It was a statement he couldn't exactly refute, so he followed her into the dining area, silently vowing to learn English as soon as he could.

Just before they enter the room, she suddenly spins around pokes him sharply in the cheek using a crooked index finger with a surprising amount of aggression, before turning again and all but running into the area. He stared after her blankly.

 _What the hell?_

…

She regretted ducking into the dining area like that instantly, feeling her thigh and calf muscles scream in agony- as she had expected, she had been forced to go against the old man's illusions for a solid 5-hour straight fight in which she proceeded to thoroughly slaughter her legs- her arms ached as well, since they had played a part in rolling to her feet once she learned simply landing feet first not only hurt her in the long run, but left her back exposed for 3 seconds too long. The hard way.

She glares at his back, from where he's making their dinner, but hobbles over anyways to watch with poorly concealed curiosity as he cooks with practiced grace.

"Are you interested?"

He asks teasingly, even if the question is perfectly legitimate. She entertained the idea of being rude and simply walking away again, but the Lobster had started setting the table, and she wasn't keen on confronting him about his complex just yet, even if in theory, she knew what key points to address to start him on the road to recovery.

Besides, insane though she may be, even after being reincarnated she still held doors open for people, and never walked in before them, so she's fairly sure that what little of her manners she had are still intact.

Or that might just be her paranoia suggesting that she's less likely to be shot if someone goes in first.

Either way, just dismissing him when the old man's been giving her shelter, food, and a way to defend herself doesn't sit well with her, even if it's all for his own gain and amusement- not to mention he's an elder and she wants to pull at least a bit of her own weight, because the amount of dependence she's aware she's prone to makes her uncomfortable.

So, she nods, and sets about learning how to create some of the more simpler dishes while trying not to get in the way, cut her fingers off, or get stabbed since the lesson had somehow morphed into a training session as well. She wasn't very successful at the latter.

Several minutes later, and nursing arms more than a bit scratched up, and her legs are past the point of simply giving up on her due to the creative dodging she had to do in order to avoid being nicked anywhere else- the only reason she isn't flat on her ass is because apparently Cloud Flames can do wonders for multiplying the slightest slivers of force left in her body. On that note, if she didn't sit down soon, her muscles would either tear, break her bones, or both, due to the veritable amount of exertion derived stress being put on them.

She manages to make it to the table with a harsh limp and what little remained of her pride in place, because _damn_ if she was going down after a few measly kicks. Dropping somewhat ungracefully into a chair, she decides she's done being polite for the day, and allows the Lobster to set the table for her and the old man instead of helping him.

With a muttered 'Itadakimasu', she and the Lobster all but lunge into their helpings.

…

She unlocks her Cloud Flames properly a month later, when the old man throws her in to a spar against the evenly matched Lobster- their fight eventually devolves into finishing blows that are parried awkwardly, copious amounts of fatigue, the entirety of their impressive stamina being brought to light, and eventually downright dirty tactics that had them grappling on the hardened dirt of the coming winter, the leaves strewn into the air flurrying around them like an autumn inferno.

It was, funnily enough, a thought that had brought her violet blaze to life, as she stared into the lobsters dulled green eyes from across their locked staffs, turned that way after he had been called to a 'meeting' with the Oyabun regarding his progress.

Until then, she had been slowly trying to build up his confidence, using off hand compliments that tried their best to seem natural, ones that turned backhanded when he looked at her strange- then, to make sure he knew he was worth her time and attention,

( _Hers and the old mans because no-one else cared enough to matter-)_

She would poke him in the cheek with a crooked index finger at least once a day; the action turning from a tease to an acknowledgement and then to an action born of fondness. But all of it had been undone in one simple meeting, and her action, which had steadily brought him amusement rather than offense, now meant NoThInG, and as she stared into those ( _Dulldulldull)_ Green eyes, she felt something….

….

 _Snap._

Her fury burned, and it burned bright, and as her violet flames burned away her staff, it reflected itself in his eyes, and for a moment, they shone emerald again.

She wasn't sure when she had begun crying, nor did she know what for, ( _But this body knew, it always did-)_ and her face was split in a broad, genuine grin when Lightning boomed a thunderous green in determination, and maybe she exposed too many teeth, because he was crying as well, even as her Flames easily overpowered his, strong after nearly 7 years of being pushed to the limit; thus, forcing her reserves and strength to expand with them.

He fell to the ground as she called her Fire back to her skin, allowing it to curl lazily around her before fading away with freely flickering tongues of flame.

His Flames had already receded after its sudden but short outburst, and he looked so shocked that all she could do was force her lips into a familiar smirk and poke him in the cheek with a bent index finger.

"You look more like a gold fish than a lobster now,"

She informed him cheerily, and the words spoken as though their furious exchange was naught but a bland blip on the radar, startled a laugh out of him. The first one in a month.

"You do know this means Mirai had won, yes?"

The old man asks in drawling amusement as he walks towards them, but there's no heat in his words, and he had abandoned his half full cup of tea to approach them, so she knows how, dare she say, _proud_ he was.

She beams at him, cognac eyes bright, and reaches up to poke him in the face with her finger as well, him giving her a faintly indulgent look as he allows it.

Then the Lobster is standing again, looking unsure suddenly; afraid she can tell; that it was simply a fluke, and there's nothing she can do to reassure him it wasn't, so she simply wraps her arm around his neck and ruffles his hair affectionately, pretending that it wasn't the first time she had so openly displayed care in this world since she was reborn.

And to the _Lobster_ no less. But then again, she had never hated nor actively disliked him, was more neutral until suddenly she wasn't, but that's okay, because she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

They were _hers,_ and perhaps that was a strange way to look at things, but it was true, she can tell because Murasaki purrs under her skin in agreement, and so she allows the idea to settle comfortably in her mind.

 _Hers._

…

That night, when the Lobster returns to the old man's house from the main complex, looking just so _tired,_ _all over again,_ she learns what hate truly is, and if the old man sees the fury burning in her stunningly violet eyes, he politely doesn't mention that the Oyabun may have just indirectly started a blood feud with a Cloud. That's just bad form, after all.

 _(This time, the old man starts being a little more generous with his praise as well, and the Lobster recovers just that much faster.)_

…

"This doesn't mean anything, binporu."

The Lobster informs her grumpily as he all but thrusts a wooden tray of messily made sushi into her face, startling her out of her meditation. She doesn't bother with how brazenly he had entered her room, taking the offering with a bemused expression. He's scowling at her, face bright red, and she snickers, because really, scowls on a chubby little 6-year-old were far from terrifying.

"Lobster,"

She says in deadpan, taking the offering with all the solemnity you might expect at a funeral procession, and he flicks her sharply in the forehead in annoyance, before running out

She's left staring after him in shock at the sheer _cheek_ he had displayed to her despite the fact he knew full well that her fighting progress had far out run his after she unlocked Murasaki; but doesn't actually do anything.

She's left sitting on her futon with a tray of sushi in her lap, a bright red mark on her forehead, and a faintly stunned expression.

…

"What if I use my Flames to propagate the amount of material present, then force the flames still residing in the propagated element to take the shape of spikes?"

"Force? Also, why not use different shapes if you can do that?"

"Spikes are simple, and Murasaki rather enjoys sharp pointy things. Also, I have Cloud Flames, not Mist Flames- Mists can make intricate stuff, Clouds can cover larger areas and make spikes- otherwise, our Flames just take the shape of whatever we're propagating, and simply multiply the object. Also, yes, force, because that's the only verb I can find to describe attempting to make something do something uniform when that something is like a teenager, except permanently stuck in its rebellious stage."

"…. Murasaki?"

"Yes."

"…Wait, so you were serious when you said she was insane, Wakagashira-san?"

"I would hardly lie about Mirai-Chan's insanity, Okuri-Kun."

"Oh please, we all know you're a compulsive liar old man~"

"Binporu!"

"What, Lobster?"

"Huehuehue…."

"…."

 _"…_ _. The shit was that you creepy old man?"_

"STOP INSULTING THE WAKAGASHIRA SUICIDAL BINPORU- "

"YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I _SAID- "_

 _"_ At this point I just assume everything you say is an insult…"

…

The Lobster stared blankly at the sheet of paper in front of the old man, staring over his shoulder, while the old man himself, very slowly put it down.

"Mirai, can you write in Japanese?"

"Obviously, weird old man."

"…. There's at least 7 languages mashed together to form this mockery of a Japanese poem binporu."

"Italian, Arabic, French, Japanese, Mandarin, English, and Hindi. Mirai?"

"…. The words wouldn't fit, old man."

"Pfft- "

"Lobster, I will _smash you through a wall."_

"Okuri, Mirai, we'll be having linguistic lessons instead of literature every day for 3 hours from now on. Understand?"

"'…Hai, Shishou.'"

…

"…. What the hell is this, binporu?"

He asked Mirai, honestly confused- though her writing was finally comprehensible Japanese, he hadn't expected her practice notebook to be filled with stories of all things. Her Kanji were small and neat, close together as they littered the pages like columns of ants, the writing sprawling across the pages- in the beginning, he can see where she struggled with the languages, but further in they finally look more natural; the phrasing getting better as her vocabulary expanded to include written words.

She had 6 other books, and he can tell that it's all the same story, but in each of the languages she had started self-studying by referencing the many books in the Wakagashira's study.

"Stories, you blind Lobster."

She says as though he's an idiot, and he manages a retort, feeling something sick turning in his stomach. Once again, Mirai had out run him, but before that feeling can morph into the sensation of sticky hot oil that he's felt block his throat whenever she beat him at spars by longer and longer skill gaps, she pokes him sharply in the cheek with a bent index finger, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"You better learn those languages as well, it's boring if only the old man can read my stories, and you have useful feedback."

"…. Yeah, okay."

He says in a small voice, and pretends he doesn't feel the small blossom of warmth in his chest; that she _wants_ him to read her works, that she thinks he's useful. ( _worthsomethingbutyou'reworthless)_

He pretends he isn't smiling.

…

Hajime watches Mirai flow easily into the style he had been teaching her, a mix of staff fighting, hand to hand combat, and kick boxing- though her movements are smooth, the transition between them are still harsh and unrefined, and often more than not, she doesn't fall into the combo attacks he had tried to grind into her, preferring to back away or stall her opponent, before suddenly launching into a flurry of movements that push whoever she was fighting on the defensive.

But, as he had noticed, she only used that against Okuri; who he had just been teaching staff fighting mixed in with a few Flame heavy techniques; when they were sparring, using him as a whetstone to perfect her understanding of the Hibari's style.

Whenever he pitted her against older members of the Yakuza from under the Oyabun's direct command, sent to evaluate their progress, she wouldn't bother showing off or lengthening the fight; swiftly incapacitating them in stranger and stranger ways.

From suddenly dropping to the ground before her opponent can move, pressing a flame covered hand to the ground, and all but _skewering_ the man's entire leg on a spike of hard winter dirt, then back kicking him in the jaw and breaking it; to straight up _headbutting_ her opponent over their crossed staffs with Cloud driven force.

She snapped his neck.

Curiously, she didn't experience any lash back from straight up killing a man, easily going about her day with all the composure of a Hibari Matriarch. After he had made sure Okuri wouldn't go into a mental breakdown from witnessing his first death, he had approached her with sheer amusement coloring his tone.

"Eh? Oh, if the pansy can't handle being shoved into his next life a bit earlier than usual, he shouldn't have joined the Yakuza. Natural Selection if you will."

Was her bland and indifferent explanation as she went about burning their dinner. Somehow, he wasn't surprised, though the part about his 'Next Life' seemed a bit too sincere to be a thrown-out statement.

Tucking that away for future reference, he jotted it down to her strange form of insanity, and continued their schedule as usual, if a little bit more endeared to both of them on account of how quickly Okuri had gotten over the encounter.

That being said, it goes without question that when the Oyabun approached him with intentions of absorbing her into the main syndicate through a foot soldier, he wasted no time in delivering the boss his messengers head.

After all, the only the reason the Hibari hadn't just taken the boss out was because he wasn't _that_ bored. Yet. And really, the 'Skylark is a flight risk' puns had gotten old years ago; honestly, you'd think the syndicate would realize after all these years that the only reason he hadn't killed them all was because they amused him. Like squabbling toddlers.

…

…

" _You're walking a fine line."_

Said the Skylark, and the little piggy's all cowered and bowed and ran away to hide behind their bigger piggy. And the bigger piggy lived the rest of his days in fear of the Skylarks big, big shadow.

…

…

" _Don't tempt me, child."_

 _…_

 _…_

It's when Mirai nearly kills another orphan that had been bought into the main family as a child soldier, for trying to stone Okuri, that Hajime realizes just how her territorial instincts had manifested. The Oyabun wasn't pleased, because this meant that even if they did somehow manage to get her to pass on her Flames via breeding, she was more likely to tear down the entire compound than give over her child. The fact Hajime kept on chuckling behind a voluminous hakama sleeve, only made him angrier.

Until the Hibari stopped laughing when he realized he had most probably been claimed by the Cloud as well.

Then, he's _roaring_ with his laughter, and the sound carries through the main house, terrifying every single person in the building.

…

 _Well then._

…

"How old are you both now?"

Hajime asks, when their all sitting down at the dining table, the soft clink of chopsticks rhythmic and soft.

"10, old man."

"9 Wakagashira-san."

He hums in acknowledgement, idly noting that an entire three years had passed and Mirai had finally started showing the promise of turning her inherited combat style into an art form, whereas Okuri had progressed to the point of being able to take down a group of 5 trained men at once.

The boy Mirai so fondly refers to as 'That shitty Lobster,' has found himself with a scattering of freckles over the past few months, his scarlet hair falling in bangs that stop just before they start obscuring his vision, evergreen eyes bright in comparison to his tan skin. His coloring is soft, the fact his jaw is rounded and nose snubbed making him look far more genuine, and less like a killer in training.

The girl beside him is a startling contrast, with her less than welcoming features.

Her face shows the bone structure that he knows will turn sharp when she matures, eyes almond and unreadable- the warm tones that make up her medium olive skin as well as cognac and russet irises ensure that whenever she hits a homicidal high; makes the fact her eyes flash Cloud violet is near impossible to miss; and adds quite nicely to her fear factor, though her crooked and canine exposing lips may be a bit overkill.

Her hair is chin length and straighter than her nose is, falling in pitch black bangs that sweep to the left of her face.

Though, to be fair, even if she wasn't a cloud, anyone with features like that would make any underworld smart person more than a little wary.

Hajime smirked, and decided that he was pleased with the way they were turning out.

* * *

 **A/N- (Just wanted to say, I'll be replying to longer reviews via PM, and shorter ones here-**

 **To;** ChibiSkies27100D , Madam3Mayh3m , and Guest-

 **I'm glad you're all excited for the story, and hope i wont disappoint!**

 **Also, remember how in the last chapter i said i would do relationship building for a few chapters?**

 **Yeah...i...underestimated how long 6000-8000 words are, XD**

 **SO, on that note, this means next chapter will have the plot starting to move its lazy ass!**


	3. Kitten in the Rain, Part 3

"You know, I almost forgot about them."

She mused, watching as large batches of orphans were put through basic combat training, their ages ranging from 12-15.

The lobster frowned, flicking a glance at her from where he was running maintenance on the rattan staff in his hands; the ends capped with what seemed to be copper- though an unusual addition to the weapon, it made sure that the area he injected with Lightening Flames were restrained and didn't end up splitting the wood down the middle.

To get used to the weight, the old man had taken to making him practice with the heavier aluminum staff in their private dojo; the customized rattan one only being used during progress checkups.

Since the staff he was cleaning was lighter than the aluminum one, she was always caught mildly off guard when his speed; already of note; increased by tenfold.

"What do you mean?"

He queried, following her gaze to where a boy with close cropped black hair was thrown to the ground harshly by a yakuza member; his landing being fumbled as he crumpled onto his back.

She waved a hand at the group of children with an encompassing gesture, before turning her attention to the simple oak staff she had been equipped with- due to the fact her unnatural strength often stressed her weapons enough to splinter them; the old man had simply given her the more common oak Bo staffs which were easy to replace.

"The reason I caught the old man's attention- the syndicate was 'recruiting' kids from the orphanage."

She scoffed then, squinting at where a stress line had appeared near the middle of her staff.

"Bet they fetched a pretty penny."

The Lobster didn't reply to that, other than a reflexive correcting of how she addressed their Shishou.

"Oi, **inu no maigo! *** "

 **(*Inu no maigo is the rough translation of 'Lost Puppy Dogs')**

One of the instructors called, and she scowled at the term of address. Due to their; as the rest of the compound saw it; 'special treatment', most of the people they interacted with had taken to calling them that as tribute to how they tended to follow the old man around, for lack of familiarity with the rest of the complex.

Obviously, Hibari's didn't believe in the need to socialize- you could beat any aggressors into the ground until they were singing you praises under witness of Kami?

Good enough.

"Okuri-san."

The Lobster corrected mildly, eyes calm as he inclined his head to them in acknowledgement. She narrowed her eyes, scowling at the, as she saw it, submissive reaction of the Lobster.

She knew that there was some Flame Nature propaganda about how Lightning users 'Drew damage to themselves and away from the Family', but she had never really taken it seriously.

Until the Lobster realized being passive made them angrier and switched to behaving that way around them rather than trying to actively provoke them; using it to draw attention away from her, though she wasn't quite sure why.

"Ehh? You trying to show us cheek, brat?"

One of them snapped as they took a threatening step forward, knowing full well the Oyabun didn't care about his son enough for there to be any lash back from the way they were acting.

"My temper is straining."

She tells them coolly, and when he sends her a derogatory look, floods the area with ( _I could kill you I will kill you I can kill you AnD YoU CaN't StOp Me-)_ Killing Intent, kicking it up a notch when all it did was drive the gathering to their knees, choking for breath.

Murasaki _roared,_ oppressing they're instinctively flaring ( _fearful)_ Flame Signatures as the lavender Fire rumbled around her in a suffocating aura of violet that steadily darkened with her annoyance; pulling upwards from her feet in thick streams of Cloud Flames- it had taken her weeks to perfect the intimidation technique, aided by how large her Flame reserves had grown.

She was aware of her hair rising slightly from sheer pressure as her Intent began to form its own gravitational field, before she cut it off and it fell limp to gravity again, swaying slightly.

"…Wakagashira-san should never have taught you that."

Okuri sighs fondly, leaning against the wall behind her- apart from her, he was the only one Murasaki and her hadn't dissolved into a frothing mess on the floor, since she had long since recognized him as one of hers.

"…. It is rather Flame heavy."

She admits, and pretends she isn't struggling to stay on her feet. He laughs freely, eyes bright, and presses down on her shoulder slightly- she is unable to resist as he pushes her to the floor, sitting down next to her.

"Don't worry,"

He says, examining the finish on his staff,

"By the time they're all functional again, you'll have recovered."

"…."

She concedes, satisfied with the forcefully gotten silence that had befallen the room. She had been working on the technique for near this express purpose; starting to get annoyed with how willfully ignorant the Yakuza members were being- this way, they'd be unable to deny her and the Lobsters superiority.

Hell, the only reason they were in the public dojo was because the sadistic old man had agreed to the Oyabun's request of having them 'get to know' the rest of the combatants in the Syndicate; and dumped them with the combat instructors for the rest of the week.

It was only their second day, and she was ready to kill them all.

"…You didn't have to do that."

The Lobster says suddenly, setting his staff down and turning to her with a crease in his brow- she easily meets his gaze with cold fire in her unusual eyes, but he doesn't flinch like so many do; evenly matching it with concerned emerald. She looks away first, huffing sharply through her nose.

"You don't either."

Was her judging response, and he blinks in surprise, before shaking his head in frustration.

"How oblivious can you get, damn binporu?"

He asks, looking to the ceiling as though there might be answers scrawled on the wooden beams. She snaps her stare to him in warning, and to her mild appeasement; he immediately recognizes it and starts fast talking.

"I mean, you should have realized by now how badly the Oyabun wants to force you into either passing on your bloodline or Bonding with him so that you'll be forced to stay and claim this regional area!"

He snarls in frustration, flailing his hands slightly as he failed to convey the supposed magnitude of his words.

Bonds were something the old man had informed them of only recently, after she had all put kicked a wall down when she had the sudden and irrefutable sense that something had gone wrong- it turned out the stupid Lobster had impaled his arm on a length of splintered wood due to the staff he was using reacting badly with his flames.

Apparently, Bonds were something that formed between either two active Flame users, an active and a dormant Flame user, or extremely rarely, two dormant Flame users, when their Flame Signatures synchronized to the point that the two parties could tell whenever the other was in danger, and even sense their emotions.

A well-guarded secret in the mafia, (she didn't want to know why the old man knew all this shit,), Bonds were something of a sacred practice amongst the more structured Families, since it signified not only strong ties, but when a Sky had accepted a Guardian, when a Guardian had accepted a Sky, and when the Guardians had accepted each other.

Forcing a Bond should have been impossible in that effect, but apparently, infusing someone with enough of your Flames to the point where they had the choice of either accepting the Flames or dying; was enough to form a false tie between the two parties.

The victimized Flame User would then be forced to act as an involuntary Guardian, since attempting to leave the other for long periods of time often lead to them nearing death because they would need to be within a specific radius to stop what Mafia Scientists called the 'Love Bird Effect'.

Killing the person forcing their flames onto you would end up with you dying as well, and staying away for too long and too far would lead to your death. With Natural Bonds, the problems were avoided, since both the Flame types accepted the other without one trying to resist and the other trying to force.

"I'll kill him and anyone with him if he tries."

She says calmly, still looking straight ahead. The Lobster growls in frustration, opening his mouth to either plead or to yell, before he catches sight of her expression. Impassive and deadly calm, and it wasn't a façade either- he could sense the firm confidence that swilled around her Flames. She wouldn't allow it.

He falls silent, sighing as he drops back to relax against the wall, taking in the sight of the burn marks from where her aura had scorched the wood as it rose from her feet to paint a terrifying visage of undiluted Killing Intent behind her.

…. Maybe she would be fine.

He allows a small smile to tug his lips, before dropping to lean against her- she snorts and jabs him in the face with a bent index finger, setting aside the staff in her lap to plop a protective arm around his shoulders.

"…. Shitty binporu. I can't wait to see what happens when you can hold your aura and fight at the same time."

He says, and she smirks in gratification.

"Damn straight bloody Lobster."

….

Unfortunately, the yakuza men wake up within minutes, and while they were shaken, she was displeased at how ineffective her intent was in the long run. The terrified glances they sent her did little to ease her displeasure. _(She was not sulking, shut up you stupid Lobster.)_

"I-In- "

A man stuttered, then almost shit himself when her glare caught his eyes in the way a predator might.

"OKURI-SAN! I meant…. I meant Okuri-san."

He wheezed, and she looked away much to his relief- The lobster stood calmly and give the man a polite bow.

"Is it time for our spar now, Miyoko-san?"

He asked as she picked up her staff, falling into stretches as the man nodded wordlessly.

They were given a few minutes to loosen up before the cluster of men and children retreated to press against the walls of the dojo and they proceeded to the center.

There were no polite exchanges; this was not a rule bound tournament, but instead a fight suited for the underworlds hungry jaws.

Okuri ( _Because he was Okuri in these matches, when his fangs were bared, and not hidden, as Lobsters were-)_ blurred forward in a whirlwind of green electricity that capped the ends of his staff, pushing the offensive front as his Flame enhanced weapon slammed into the tatami rhythmically, aiming for her vital points only to be deflected to the ground as she calmly backed away; staff spinning in a hard to follow rotation over and under her hands as it hooked his weapon to the floor before continuing the defense instead of attempting to pin him down- after all, her staff had already started to smoke from where it had touched his Flames only briefly.

Her eyes followed his movements eerily, cataloguing the pattern in which he pressed his advantage; he spun around in lightning pivots to gain momentum and speed in his movement before he lashed out, causing a split second in which his back was exposed to her.

She smirked, taking his offered bait as she caught her staff in one hand, using the other to push the length of it down as she turned her body to match her weapon length wise- all of this was done in the same moment a breath might be taken as she jabbed it towards him in a drove of Cloud enhanced speed.

Instead of turning to block her staff and then move in under her guard as she had expected, he ducks without looking at her, his staff which was held in front of him horizontally spinning under hers to sweep her feet out.

She jumped it easily, and pulled her staff back from its lunge as she pinned it to her side with an arm in the way the old man had showed her; landing on the foot matching her compromised arm and spinning around to kick him in the head.

though faster than her, his speed isn't something he can vary, as although he can slowly increase his speed, he can't randomly adjust it as she does with her Cloud Flames- as such, he is taken off guard when her foot connects and he's thrown forwards, having adjusted his timing to the speed she had displayed earlier.

He is already whirling his staff to his side as he tucks his feet to his chest, shifting his center of gravity so that he manages a rotation in the air to make him land into a crouch- but she hadn't been idling in those precious seconds, and her staff is a blur around her torso as her legs smash into whatever part of his body she can manage; an unrelenting flurry.

He's forced to get creative with the way he blocks as she flickers around him, aiming at more places than just his front- his staff he passed from skillful hand to skillful hand as it protects his back, sides, knees, until he makes a mistake of using both hands to block an overhead strike from her weapon, his staff held horizontally.

His eyes widen as he realizes, but he cannot do anything to right it as she kicks off the ground with Cloud Flames in her legs; Her staff still holding his own in place; flipping gracefully in the air and smashing into the wooden bar hard enough that it breaks under her force.

Reluctantly, he releases it and ducks out before his head is cracked open.

Okuri leaps backwards on feather light feet, watching as she lands on the balls of her feet, but rolls her body with the motion into a cart wheel, until she's covered more ground than he had anticipated, and he's backing away again, forearms crackling with Lightning Flames blocking and absorbing the punishment of her staff and legs as she falls into one of the attacks the Hibari had shown her:

 **Lash of the Whirlwind.**

Her staff spins around her body as she tilts her torso at an angle, leaping into the air and passing her staff under her legs to hit him hard enough he can feel the bones in his arms creaking with the urge to break; his Flames quelling it only for the moment, as his reserves cannot match hers yet.

But the motion is one of many as she combines her legs into a blizzard of kicks and unpredictable speed, her hands passing her staff around her body and crunching into him where her legs cannot reach.

Where her legs hit him in the ribs feet first, her staff would swing at his knees, before she kicked off his body and flipped in the air to land up right once again.

Apparently done playing with her food, she flashes him her canine exposing grin, and he returns it with a raised middle finger before her leg hooks around his neck and connects with a flash of white pain before he can dodge. He falls like a rag doll.

…

She holds her leg in place for a moment as the Lobster falls, before she swung it neatly to her side.

Her audience is watching with awed reverence, this having been the first fight they had seen her participate in- that, combined with her earlier show of dominance, makes them rightfully wary to approach her.

She lifts him easily into her arms, still taller than the boy even now, and walks to the sidelines where the medical kits are located- the ones standing there quickly clear out, and a warning glance has them threatened not to approach her while her fellow apprentice is still unable to protect himself.

She wastes no time in cleaning up the worst of his bruises, the ones which have formed around skin that split under her heels, but leaves the rest for him to take care of himself, turning to her…. complete lack of injury.

She blinked of bemusement, reviewing their fight and realizing that he hadn't managed a single hit on her. Resolving to make sure he's up to date the next time they spar, she starts massaging her aching legs as she waits for him to wake. She doesn't have to wait long, and he stirs after a few moments.

"Are you getting worse at this?"

She asks, completely sincere, and he gives her a sour look but gratefully takes the roll of bandages she had offered him anyways.

"No, you've just gotten used to my attacks- I can't get used to yours because of how random you make your speed though,"

He grumbles, nudging her in the ribs playfully to show her he wasn't that down trodden by his defeat. She nods in understanding, then turns her attention to where the Dojo doors had been flung open. She vaguely hears a Yakuza man yelling something, but her eyes are focused on the old man as he crooks a finger at them from behind him and walks away.

They don't waste any time, standing and striding away to follow him, wounds still half wrapped.

…

"The turf war is still a thing?"

She asks in bemusement, taking the clothing bag piled into her arms by her calm Hibari as her Lobster pokes at his own curiously.

"Tell me Mirai, how competent do you think this Syndicate really is?"

He asks her dryly, and she pauses, before nodding gravely in agreement. Her Lobster shakes his head at them in amusement, ducking into his room to get dressed after the old man dismisses them both from the middle of the corridor with a promise to explain things in the greeting area.

She enters her own room, opposite to his, and slides the door closed, unfolding the clothes given to her- she blinks in surprise at the, not, as she had expected, traditional Japanese outfitting.

There seems to be a pair of slim black military pants, and though she isn't sure what she'll be putting inside the various pockets considering her fighting style, she moves on to examine the rest of her outfit. A simple leather belt follows, what seems to be steel toed black work-boots sitting at the bottom of her bag. She pulled out the top, unfolding it to examine the, yet again, black material. Not that she was complaining.

It was weirdly soft and seemed as though it would fit well- apart from being sleeveless, the Asian collared top had bright amethyst hemming, with a simple Chinese dragon design in the same color curling around her back to rest with its jaws clamped over the back of her shoulder; the shade both a war banner and a warning.

She smirked, reluctantly conceding that the old man might have _some_ style, and began dressing herself swiftly.

About to make her way to the greeting area, she notes that her Lobster was still in his room- bemused, because she was sure he would have taken the same time as she did, she knocks on the framing of the shoji screen.

There's a pause, before a muttered assent. She pulls it open, taking in the fact that he was dressed in nearly the same thing as her; except with dark brown pants instead of black, shoes that looked far more suited to his 'fleet of foot' style, and a full sleeved forest green Chinese style shirt.

He's staring at his hands, flexing them anxiously, and she frowns before tapping into their bond; still not used to being tuned into it always, and was assaulted by _fear_.

She stiffens, and in a rapid movement she's dropping to kneel in front of him on one knee, forcing his eyes to meet hers from his hands. Sensing the silent demand, he sighs, before leaning back on his hands, not breaking eye contact.

"You know he wants us to fight in the turf war, right?"

He asks her worriedly, and she raises an eyebrow, him flushing as he rushes to explain.

"I mean, these clothes are clearly suited to combat, and I heard what that guy was yelling in the Dojo- They're losing ground, and their rivals have started pushing an attack on their territory, and its logical considering our progress that the old- I mean, Wakagashira-san would send us out,"

He rambles, and she sighs softly, poking him in the face with a finger, and meeting his eyes calmly.

"Why are you afraid?"

She questions, and he flinches in shock at having his turmoil put so clearly into words.

"…. I'm not good enough. We're not even teenagers Mirai, and we're going to be _killed-_ "

She raises a hand, pausing him, before she asks him confusedly.

"First, why are you calling me Mirai?"

He gives her a strange look, tilting his head as he retorted,

"Calling you Binporu in this type of situation is weird, so I'm calling you by your name- "

"That's not my name."

"…What?"

"It's only what the old man calls me because of why I'm here, to pass on his inherited style. Mirai means Future. I haven't given myself a name yet."

She clears up, and he blinks at her in surprise, before beginning to snicker.

"T-that's not how it w-works,"

He gasps in between his laughter, and she gives him a truly disgruntled expression.

"That makes no sense."

She tells him earnestly, and he smiles, dropping his head to rest it against hers.

"…Can I call you Rydia then?"

"Rydia?"

"I…. had always liked the name. Its Strong."

"Rydia…. I like it, sounds like something a Lobster would think of."

He gives her a warmer smile then, that sends something akin to hyper butterflies tumbling around her stomach, and he mouths the name a few times, getting used to it.

"…How are you not scared?"

"We're strong enough."

She tells him firmly, allowing Murasaki to fold around his Flames in comfort, subtly reminding him that Clouds had their reputations for a reason and hell would come to earth before she let him die.

"…Your confidence is terrifying."

He admits in a small voice, his Flames winding around Murasaki softly, young and not nearly as wise and jaded as hers, and she's hit by the sudden realization that he was a _child,_ not a woman who had stared death in the eye and had lived on past it.

"…Death isn't the end, even if it does come. There's always the next adventure, what's another chapter to a story?"

She asks him quietly, feeling something burn in her throat as her hair dampens with his terrified tears.

"…I haven't read your stories yet."

He whispers hoarsely, suddenly, and she smiles, firm and strong, because he needs it.

"Then live to finish them, yeah?"

She asks, falling into a speaking tick from the Before in her desperation to convey that she would always be there to catch him when he fell, that the Lightning belonged in the Clouds, that it was shielded and protected by the Cloud Cover.

Maybe Murasaki does that better than her, but she's gives him a direction, and he blinks moist evergreen eyes at her, full of admiration and faith, and gives her his most genuine and his smallest smile in a while.

"…Yeah."

…

Her old man had weapons for them. After he had explained what her too intelligent Lobster had figured out, she had quickly been led aside as a Mist Flame construction of her old man explained her Lobsters weapon to him, the staff sturdier than what he had before- apparently, her old man had been doing things in the few days they weren't with him.

"These are toothpicks old man."

She tells him dryly, picking at the multitude of miniature Bo staffs in front of her- they all seemed to be made of lacquered woods, and were arranged in order of their strength levels in front of her. The weaker ones had more of them, whereas the strongest would only have 2 or 3 copies.

"Try infusing them with Cloud Flames; and instead of making copies, since you're not good enough at that yet to do _actual_ copies and not weakened versions; just attempt to increase the amount of wood until it's the size of a proper staff."

She frowned, rolling an oak one between her fingers.

"Murasaki keeps on forming excess material into spikes, so I would just disfigure it…. unless…. okay, wait, so if I allow her to take the form of the wood initially, then start pushing the propagation attribute length and width wise, it should, in theory, expand the size of the staff temporarily?"

Her thinking out loud eventually lilts into a question, and she scowls when the old man smirked at her.

"Is that so? I'll keep it in mind."

She wrinkled her nose at him with a mutter of 'Plagiarizer,' and frowns at the amount in front of her.

"…You're not expecting me to come back."

She concludes, and his smirk widens.

"You've learned the base of my style from me- the rest of it is traditionally left to be adapted by the student, and I doubt you'd want to stick around to have the Oyabun get his hands on you. This way, you'll be happily listed as MIA~'

He chirps, and though she knows it's a good deal, her eyes still narrow at him.

"What about the Lobster?"

"You can take him with you if you like, I'm planning on murdering his father in a few days anyways."

He smiles dismissively, and she stared at him.

 _(Oi, oi, oi….)_

She sweat-dropped, and figured she'd probably just leave the answer to that question to her Lobster himself after it was all well and done.

It's a few hours later, when she's been bouncing ideas off her Lobster on how to use her theorized technique without her staffs imploding from the initial Cloud Flame infusion, that her old man enters the greeting area with a brisk nod.

While she's packing her collection of Bo staffs carefully into her pockets, along with a wallet stuffed with hard Yen the old man that snuck in there, as well as her practice books (no, really, the pockets were _that deep_ ,) that it hits her she'll be leaving _her_ old man for, realistically, longer than she's rightfully comfortable with. As in, she's likely to never see him again.

Murasaki rebels against the essence of the idea, and she feels uncomfortable going against her Flames even if she knows she doesn't have much of a choice.

And so, when she suddenly pokes the old man in the cheek firmly, before she and her Lobster latch onto him in a tight hug, he's too caught off guard to react apart from a brush of his fingertips across her back.

Then, they're both straightening, and following the Yakuza member that had come to collect them outside, mingling seamlessly with the gun toting multitude of children and men, themselves being given small hand pistols and thigh holsters.

She feels uncomfortably cold.

"…Rydia?"

"Hn."

"…We'll be fine?"

"Obviously, Lobster."

( _Murasaki rumbled)_

* * *

 **(So, To celebrate the fact that this Story has officially taken first priority due to the amount of attention its been garnering, i would like to say that I'm going to include a short story about Future!Rydia in the Varia. But really? I'm only including it because i REALLY need to reach the word limit without giving anything away, so enjoy~)**

* * *

 **Writing Prompt from , #38-**

 **' _6 minutes. That's all the time I have. 6 minutes until the pain is over, 6 minutes until I finally die.'_**

* * *

She exhaled a shuddering breath, feeling Murasaki tremble weakly in her veins- the fight had long since outlasted her Flame reserves, and she thought she could feel herself slowly being pushed back.

She had been maintaining the illusion of a one-woman army for what seemed like eons to her, holding back an entire front line from the Varia HQ's right flank, whirling and lashing until she slipped into the comfortable drone of a fight.

The state eliminated any muscle pains or wounds from clouding her mind with the red she was sure had long since dyed her clothes darker than they were, but it did not help with the sheer _numbers_ of the enemy Famiglia, and yet another staff broke in her hands, even as it bent the nozzle of a rifle, and she realized she didn't have enough Flames left to continue fighting with her staffs.

She grimaced internally, external façade all cold-eyed confidence that edged regally untouchable features, and slipped into her combat stance.

She dodged a hail of machine gun bullets, allowing it to turn into a machete of friendly fire as she jabbed at any exposed flesh she could see.

She took a hit to the ribs, grabbing her assaulters arm and tugging him close, using him as a shield until he became dead weight, before pitching him at a line of snipers even as she palm-struck a gun off course, sending the bullet into the cars she had long since overturned or simply torn apart- it hits a gas tank, and even she isn't immune as she's flung through the air like a rag doll, idly noting that the explosion had started a chain reaction.

She barely takes the time to brush the flames that cling to her body out as she hits the ground rolling, before she's throwing herself back into the fray, unwilling to let them gain any more ground towards where she knows her Family is holding back a veritable army of their own- she can't hear them over the buzz that had started in her ears, but the screams ring through easily.

 _"She's a monster!"_

 _"I took out her kneecap, I know I did- "_

 _"WHY IS SHE STILL FIGHTING- "_

 _"HELP, OH GOD PLEASE HELP!"_

 _"ALL ARMS, FIRE!"_

 _"She can't go much longer, hold your front men!"_

 _"C-commander, we can't- "_

She feels something in her arm give as the long since broken wrist crunches into a face, but she doesn't pay it mind, her focus on her slowly unsteadying breaths as she pivots on a leg and kicks an entire row of men to the ground- its only when Murasaki finally dies out from embers to ash, that her leg collapses under her.

The attackers are on her like a herd of sharks, eyes desperate as they attempt to push her back- she doesn't let them though, flipping into a one-armed stand before her legs tear out in a devastating hurricane, and how long had it been since she used one of the old man's techniques and not her own?

Her eyes unfocused, and her impeccable internal clock, carried on from the Before, tells her she's been fighting for 2 hours, and finally she can see the numbers falling scarce.

…

But she could be mistaken, they had long since blended into a mess of _(ReDREdReD-)_ bodies, and she feels disturbingly empty as she realizes the agony had long buzzed out, having pushed the peak of her tolerance before just…. _stopping._

That was a bad thing, she thought she remembered Lussuria mother-henning her and Squalo over that when one of their spars got too heated, but all she can think about is not letting ThEM nEaR WhAt Is HeRs-

 _…_

She blankly registers that what seem to be Belphegor's knives are passing over head, and-

…

When had she fallen onto her back?

She attempts to move, and finds she can't- panic kicks in, mixed with no small amount of rage, because she's finally recognized all this _ReDREdReD-_

 _…_

She doesn't want to hear that clock again, and she narrows her eyes as a blur of silver hovers over her- her ears feel stuffed, and there's a weight on her chest that seems to be making her breathing wet and _ReD-_

 _…_

She doesn't like red, she decides as she feels burning warmth against her CoLd agony, and she tries to call up Murasaki, because the fires have died out and she feels so _CoLd-_

 _…_

Then there's heat spreading through her body, and she arches in rage, because even if the warmth feels vaguely familiar- ( _Laughter and fond reprimands, dark rage that could light up a room and loyalty that takes her breath away-)_ – It isn't Murasaki, isn't supposed to be coursing through her veins in molten gold, forcing her heart to keep pumping, and she _wants them to stop,_ because it feels as though she's at her _limit-_

….

 _"…. -Dare-…. STUPID-…. -LUSSUR-…. -"_

She catches raging words, loud enough to scythe through her muddied mind, and she wonders if she should recognize it, the- ( _Torrential anger and drowning challenges, focused crystal edges and unwavering faith that keeps on pouring-)-_ But she doesn't want to, because the voice is deadening what is left of Murasaki, stopping her from purging the-

…

The world hits her hard, and she just about catches glances through her Bonds- ( _Anger and HOWCOULDYOUALMOST, Relief and Idontwantoloseanother, Overwhelming irritation underscored with relieftheydontwanttofeel-)_

Before she _snarls,_ the pain ripping through her throat in a guttural gasp, and her hand tightens into fists that make her nails slice her skin.

She still can't see all that clearly, but there seems to be people hovering near or around her, watching from afar and pretending they aren't, and she knows on an instinctual level that she shouldn't let her guard down around those she doesn't recognize, but her body says otherwise, _2 hours and 6 minutes,_ so she allows it all to fade to black in an exhale.

…

She would be okay.

…

* * *

 **(A/N) So, what do you guys think about the short story extensions? whenever i hit an area where i can't continue without revealing things ahead of time, I'll do a short writing prompt, and base it around this story, modifying as needed.**

 **On that note, it does mean you guys can suggest shorts you would like to see whenever i hit another of those thresholds, since you lot have been absolutely AWESOME about the amount of love this is getting~**

 **To;** ren7720

I EXTREMELY agree with how it turned out, It was MOST YOUTHFUL, and i honestly hope Ryohei and Gai never meet because either Kakashi or Kyouya is going to have a seizure, XDD

 **To; Our Two** Guests

I agree, I've been cackling over how the Varia members slowly drive her insane, purely because of the way she meets them. Honestly, out of all the members, i Can't wait to see her meet Belphegor or Lussuria- She IS a Psychology Major after all~

 **See you lot next chapter~**


	4. Transition from Arc 1- Arc 2

She tightened her clasp around the grip of the handgun, her thumb flicking the safety off as she breathed out a lungful of smoke thick air- fires blazed around her, reaching towards the skies in the forked tongues of Apep himself, the siren song of collapsing concrete and screaming civilians howling at the crescent moon.

The turf war had originally started as them, the (as she now knew thanks to her Lobster,) Kangei Syndicate, defending the central city square from the rival Yakuza (The Ryoken Syndicate), but as they pushed them further towards the fringes of the city due to the fact the Ryoken had hired Mafia Mercenaries, they had eventually trespassed into the Red-Light district.

Unfortunately, the people here weren't as docile as the ones who had hidden away when they were in City proper, and a full-scale riot had upturned the already chaotic fight into a mess of allies and enemies- she had been separated from what was hers in the confusion, and even the recoil of the gun in her hands as it sent yet another to the ground in a spray of sangria wasn't enough to abate her Cloud instinct driven annoyance.

Scowling and pushing against the alley wall, she ran an inventory check over herself- her clothing was in surprisingly good shape, apart from a bullet graze that had torn a strip of cloth along the side of her left thigh- her top was charred around the edges, and the soles of her boots were more than a bit splattered with gore from where she had caved in limbs and heads.

Scratch that, _she_ as an entirety was slathered with her fair share of life blood. Judging by weight, she probably had a single magazine left, and it would be a while until she had to use her Cloud Flames to weaponize the still full stock of miniature staffs with her, having taken a full size oak Bo staff strapped across her back so she wouldn't have to drain her Flame reserves too early, unwilling as she was exhaust herself if this turned out to be a battle of endurance.

she resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she shot a man charging her with a baseball bat, the force of the bullet making his head snap back with a sickening _crack_ , even as the recoil jarred her wrist up to the elbow at the succession of bullets that followed and found themselves similarly buried in the heads and torsos of the men behind him.

She frowned as she exchanged the magazine, once again attempting to tap into her Bond- apart from the undercurrents of ( _whereareyou)_ soft fear and grim determination, he seemed to have slipped into the repetitive drone of a battle, where all you could think of or feel was the _swish_ of the staff in your hands.

Sighing, she tapped back out, and briskly frisked the dead bodies for any more ammo- to her misfortune, they had only their bats and the enemy emblem across their jackets.

Her eyes flicked upwards sharply when Lightning boomed, and for a moment, she thought that the mercenaries were Flame active- then the rush of _(Striking emerald intelligence, heated iron coils of concern, thunderous laughter and pleasebesafe)_ hit her, and she was scrambling up the side of the building, never stupid enough to attempt to push her way through the thick storm of flurrying limbs and whipping scarlet, because _she needed to know he was okay-_

She was flying across the rooftops, bullets smashing into anyone clever enough to have climbed onto the roofs as well, often finding snipers before they found her, even as she dodged or ducked under sprays of stray bullets that found themselves fired from stiffening and cooling fingers- none of that mattered though, because her violet eyes had found the reason he had needed to activate his Flames when she had instructed him to use them sparingly.

What seemed to be the Ryoken's spear head of attack had found Okuri, the boy himself struggling to maneuver around the bodies of those he had felled as his opponent's brass knuckles smashed into his hardened skin.

She remembered the lithe skeleton of a man, having seen him debuting as half the vanguard of his syndicate as he broke through their defenses, and so she attempted to take aim- but he was winding around Okuri like a sinuous snake, and she would hit what was hers if she wasn't careful.

Under no delusions of her ability with a gun, she flicked the safety on and stuffed it into its holster, jogging back from the rooftop edge- she sprinted forwards then, building momentum before launching herself forward as though about to perform a backflip- her hand hits the edge of the roof, and she folds her body into a vertical bridge, feet against the wall of the building beneath it, even as her hands roll with the motion and her fingertips lift off the peeling white ledge.

Cloud Flames pulse in her legs, and she kicks off the building with both feet once gravity had pulled her torso in to position, shifting her body so that she rotates in the air, eyes glimpsing the building caving in from her point of impact, before she's straightening out from the rotation and the soles of her worker boots are crushing into the temple of the Ryoken.

She's satisfied with how her sense of timing hasn't dulled, even if she no longer needs to tick like the tock of a clock, kicking off his head so that he flies the extra mile as she overturns in the air and lands on the balls of her feet next to Okuri.

He flashes her a warm, grateful grin, and she follows him as he quickly escapes the ring of dead bodies he had been having trouble navigating earlier- the area is clear of people, the Kangei dead and the Ryoken faithful in their strongest, but the sound of fighting carries on the frigid winter air; the sensation causing a strange contrast as fires burn around them.

Eyes reflecting the cool assessment of her battle-scarred foe, she unslings her Bo staff and settles the comfortable weight as she falls into stance, eyes half lidded both against the awkward lighting, and to mask her thudding heart, face blank.

She can hear Okuri's even breaths behind her, and for once, she can truly appreciate the fact she looks and acts like the bigger threat. And that she's taller than him. That's vital too.

There's no passing of words, just the clinical, impersonal parting of air as his fists swing towards her head, and she's ducking, allowing Okuri's reinforced staff to take the hit from where her presence had temporarily made the man forget about him.

she's moving under his guard in that moment, swinging into a tight kick aimed at his ribs- his free arm doesn't block it, grabbing it instead, and she's forced to ram her staff spitefully into his jaw before releasing it, placing her hands on the limb wrapped around her leg before he can throw her away, and using the sudden influx of weight to raise her other leg and once again uppercut him where she had hit him before, using her knee this time.

He still doesn't give though, stumbling back with a grunt of mild discomfort- she takes a moment to examine where her leg is pinned to his side with an arm, before she once again throws her other leg into the air, this time hooking the back of her knee around his neck and using the hold to surge upwards and headbutt him in the nose, caving it in with a spurt of blood that matts her hair and drips into her eye.

He has to release her this time, but she doesn't relent, silently thankful for all the flexibility exercises the old man put her through as she tightens the leg around his neck, lifting her other leg to join it.

Okuri quickly leaps out of the way from where he had been assaulting whatever part of the man he could reach, and she hurls her body weight to the ground, arms stretching out to meet it in a backflip, the man trapped between her legs being forced into the air and then into the ground at an awkward angle, herself being thrown to the ground with the maneuver.

Her legs haven't released their hold though, so she straightens her limbs into a triangle choke hold- to her fleeting rage, he breaks it easily enough, fingers scrabbling at her holster- she stiffens, tumbling over so that their a mess of tangled limbs, stiffened claw strikes and split knuckles pummeling him.

She's aware of Okuri unable to help due to them being a mess of bodies, but he's drawn her gun with his grappling fingers, and its only when she attempts to break the limb with Murasaki, and he still has the strength to flick the safety off, that she realizes he's a fellow Cloud, the purple of the enemy emblem tattooed across the back of his leather jacket having been darkened to an unrecognizable shade with blood.

The muzzle is forced under her chin, and she catches crazed eyes and blown out of proportion pupils, before her psychotic Okuri is grabbing the gun, _pulling it towards him,_ because that's the only direction that isn't going to hit her, and the man's fingers tighten around the trigger, her lips parting in a wordless scream.

…

 _Oh._

…

She isn't quite sure when she had released the man, because all she can think about is the _(ReDREdReD)_ that's gurgling from the gaping hole in Okuri's throat, too slow Lightning Flames crackling across the scarlet lashes that whip against her in stings that feel too hot against her freezing body. She scrambles forwards, numb to the gravel tearing at her exposed skin as she blankly pulls his head into her lap, unsure why her trembling fingers are pressing against his jugular to feel his butterfly wing delicate pulse that fluttered weakly against her ( _CoLd)_ finger tips.

It can't be real, she mused blankly, staring at the firefly red blood that coated her hands, and _it was so bright._

"It's okay, you'll be okay,"

She whispered through numb lips, tangling a hand in his lobster red hair, the strands oddly soft against her prickling skin. She thought the man might be firing bullets into her body, but she also knows she had damaged his hands, so they never hit their mark, settling in burning weights that splatter her back _like HiS BLoOD and AlL tHiS ReDREdReD-_

 _…_

He has a hand clamped around his throat, from where the hand checking his pulse had settled to apply pressure to the steadily trickling droplets that leak from between her shaking fingers,

For a moment, she hopes that he's still trying to live- but his hand curls around hers instead of applying weight, and a broken gasp warbles out of her throat as his coal hot hand fumbles the attempt, unable to feel his own grip.

She finally raises fractured cognac eyes to meet his clouded emerald ones and the _Dulldulldull_ shade makes her hiss vehemently, voice savage and rough with something that's burning her throat like broken glass.

"I'm going to protect you- "

She snarls, and ( _Beautiful jade that glimmered in the sunlight, mind clearing ozone that surrounds her after their spars, soft smiles and warm, childish delight that crackles as he reads her stories-)_ invades her senses, the remains of his flames folding over a raging Murasaki, halting the flames turmoil briefly like how only what was hers could.

…

Her eyes focus on his again, flinches when she realizes his eyes are wide with betrayal ( _YoUSaIdYoUWoUlDPrOtEcTMe),_ as his hand slackens around hers.

…

She stares blankly as it falls away, clear crystal tear drops splashing across his face, the saline liquid mixing with his _ReDREdReD_ and she doesn't want to move, wants to wait for him to wake up, like when he falls asleep across her lap after they spar, and she's always too soft for him to disturb him by moving, waiting until he woke up before complaining about how heavy he was.

…

( _"You know, your eyes are really scary.")_

…

She doesn't stop applying pressure to the gorge tearing his throat open in a ghastly smile, even when the droplets slow from a river to a trickle.

…

( _"Hahh? What was that, you shitty Lobster?")_

 _…_

A laugh croaks from her throat, disbelieving, half hoping the old man would dissolve this reality into a training illusion, berate her about her mental weakness.

…

 _("I said their scary, but…. They're really pretty too, you know? They remind me of…you. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Your really pretty as well- wait, that's another thing-, no, what I meant is that- ")_

 _…_

Her laugh stutters out to silence, and she realizes that once again her eyes had migrated to the blood staining her hands. It had stopped flowing, and she felt so _CoLd-_

 _…_

 _("It's a strong color, it reminds me of a wild fire.")_

 _…_

"I'm not strong,"

She whispers it to him as though it's a secret, recalling the name he had given her. _(I don't deserve anything you give me.)_

The rasp of cloth against concrete draws her eyes to where the man had dragged himself to her, the gun he had used to TaKe WhAt WaS HeRs discarded from where it had run out of bullets. She should probably be concerned about how cold and _empty_ she felt, of the cotton that stuffed her head, but her eyes are locked on him as he drags himself to her, legs broken from their struggle, with tired eyes that just want to finish the job.

…

What a clinical way to say it.

…

A smile curls her lips, and it isn't a nice one, a jagged slash that exposes glinting canines, but she doesn't know to express the turmoil gorging itself inside her, so she clings to the whispers that remain in the cold husk of her Bond, and gently closes her Okuri's eyes, lifting his head from her lap.

She feels no sentiment for the thing that looks like Okuri, since it isn't him any longer, isn't ( _Bright admiration that sends butterflies bouncing through her entire being),_ And she wonders, idly, if he would still be with her if she had killed, no, _savaged_ this entire turf war before any one of them, Kangei and Ryoken alike, could even _brush_ against his _(Warmth and emerald LoVe-)_ and decides that it isn't too late to do so now.

 _(It isn't their fault, its hers.)_

…

And so, she allows her smile to stay, feeling uncomfortably light with what the part of her that's detached to look at things analytically has diagnosed to be shock, and calmly draws one of her old man's gifts, feeling it lengthen into a 6-foot staff.

She hits the man's head hard enough that it tears half way off, ligaments and tendons torn and glistening under his split skin, and she finally allows Murasaki to envelop her, to ignite into an inferno that pales the heat of the ones fluttering around her in smears of chaotic flesh red and sky orange.

She doesn't want to think when she's churning through all of them, rampaging as the berserker her intelligent and light weight Okuri could never be, so she sinks into folds of violet that howl for blood, and decides she'll set the mark for what happens when you trigger a Cloud's territorial instincts.

 _1 hour 6 minutes till dawn break._

That'll do.

…

 _(She can cry later, mourn the severing of her bond when she's clear headed enough to use the grief instead of trap it inside her.)_

 _…_

"What the hell is that?"

A man whispers in breathless awe as his motorcycle skids to a halt, suit rumpled and splattered with blood, his partner dropping from the roof to watch with grim satisfaction as the person of their attentions, a tall for her age 10 year old girl, whirls in a dance of cold, clearly rage driven, death, killing both Ryoken and Kangei syndicate combatants alike, the whip like tendrils of violet flame that spins around her in a discus shape melting any bullets before they can pierce the already injured host.

"That,"

He says, as she slaughters mercilessly, the sheer amount of life blood that splatters her making her powerfully iridescent lavender eyes seem to rival the stars themselves with their unholy glow.

"Is a Cloud on a rampage."

The motorcyclist grins ferally, taking in the sight with a sly gleam to fire light bright blue eyes.

"Wasn't the boss looking for one of those?"

There's a pause as they both take a moment to stare as she tears a man's throat out with her teeth after yet another staff breaks in her grip.

"…Maybe we should wait until after she stops."

The more reserved of the two offers calmly, and the blue eyed one looks at him in doubt.

"What tells you she's going to stop?"

"She's running on pure Cloud Flames right now- judging by the bullet holes in her, the only reason she isn't dead of blood loss is because of the propagation factor. The moment she reaches whatever goal she had when she was set off like a bloody landmine, she'll collapse like a puppet with its strings cut."

"Eh, if you say so. Hey, do we still get paid if all of them are killed?"

"Bringing her back to the boss will more than make up for it- a Cloud will solve the problem of Vongola poking into our territories, nice and easy."

He shrugged in agreement, smirking as he settled back in the alleyway, willing to wait the enraged berserker out.

The man beside him calmly took out a cigarette, and the thin stream of smoke rose to mingle in with the thicker gray shroud that dulled the stars, police sirens and firefighters ringing in the distance. He smiled.

…

 ** _(Arc 2- No one's there to pick you up)_**

 _(It hurts)_

She wakes up between one heart beat and the next, trained to do so after the old man had started dumping water on her if she didn't, and if she was still disorientated, started throwing knives.

For a moment, she thinks she's back in the dojo, and had been awakened by the lazy blue of dawn, before the events she had repressed tumble down and crush into her chest like a heady weight.

 _(She just wants to go home)_

It's the feel of cold steel under her and not gravel or a hospital bed that ground her, and she notes that she can't feel her limbs- that, coupled with the ache that feels as though she had pulled an involuntary muscle, is enough for her to draw the conclusion that she was probably suffering severe Flame Exhaustion.

 _(It hurts so much, and she just wants to sleep)_

She keeps her breathing deep and even, and when she can't hear anyone trying to match their breaths with her, or just breathing in general, she allows her eye-lids to part slightly, low enough that she can still see the blur of her eyelashes in the way.

Her glance flicks around her, noting white walls and the _(ReDREdReD)_ blink of security cameras, before her eyes find her body- she stiffens at the sight of restraints binding her to the worktable, and something bubbles in her chest.

 _(She just wants sleep, to wake up to the feel of dangerously playful Mist and laughingly bright Lightning.)_

Murasaki is a leaden ash in her limbs, and can do nothing to soothe the panic that gleefully spreads through her veins in ( _CoLd)_ ice, the feeling unfamiliar to the usual fire- it makes breathing harder, and she gives up on pretending to be unconscious, beginning to actively strain against the leather bindings that seem to tighten the more she moves.

Logically, she knows they aren't, that the way they were set, loose enough to be comfortable, means that whoever captured her doesn't wish her active harm- but it does nothing to quell her phobia, and her fear soon drives itself into a frenzied anger, a useless emotion when there is nothing for the rage to ignite.

( _No-one that would take the time to calm her down, to do everything to snap her out of it. Not anymore.)_

So, she stills abruptly, allowing herself to fall flat on the table- even if she cannot loosen her tensed muscles, she twists her wrists, strapped above her head, so that the inner part of each face each other.

Forcing herself to glance at the bindings there, she notes that the leather is threaded through slits in the metal around each wrist, and scowls. Though the old man had taught her to escape everything from a shark tank to zip ties, this particular lesson had never come up.

She grimaces at the tightness in her throat, and notes that due to the amount of emotional strain she had put this body ( _It was so much easier to detach herself, to think 'That Body' than to think of what had happened as something that affected HeR-)_ she was probably close to either crying in frustration or screaming.

Uselessly.

She curled her hands into fists, and strained carefully against the leather, unsure of what she was doing- but it was something, so she continued, until she could feel the worn edges threatening to rub her skin away, and the weight against her stomach and ankles became something she couldn't ignore.

She squirms down slightly, the leather having enough lee-way to allow her to do so, just enough that the restraints get caught on her thumb bones- she had always hated the idea of damaging her hands, but as she desperately raises her hands from the table, opposing the straps and increasing the stress on her thumbs, she finds she doesn't care.

She pauses a moment, allowing the tension in the leather to reach its peak, worn as it was, before loosening all hold on her hands, causing them to slacken to the point that they rebound off the metal table and once again hits the strained bands, throwing her elbows apart as she does so.

It increases the stress on her hands, but also on the leather- the lather makes an odd ripping noise at the same time as a sharp clack echoes from her thumb joints- the pain that slices and throbs numbly through her arms is enough to make her scream a curse, but the minute tear combined with her self-inflicted damage leaves enough space that she doesn't care, yanking her hands free and sitting up as much as she can.

Aware she's breathing too heavy even from the sudden burst of pain, and that it isn't evening out, she still isn't stupid enough to do anything without re-locating her thumbs first, the sound of activity from beyond the heavy iron door just in front of her increasing.

She didn't know why they hadn't stopped her before, perhaps a mixture of morbid curiosity, but they're trying to now, so once her hands are back in order due to the hasty ramming of the appendages at an angle, she scrabbles at the underside of the metal table instead of panicking and attempting to rip the remaining restraints apart.

She finds the buckle, and makes quick work of it; the freeing of her abdomen giving her enough movement back that she's able to reach the buckles beneath her feet.

She frees them at the same time as the door is wrenched open, _A minute since her hands were released,_ and rolls off the table instead of following her instinct to backflip off. She's rewarded when a spray of bullets peppers the wall behind the table, and she takes a moment to judge her apparel.

Though they had left her clothes as they were, the weight of weapons was gone from her pockets, even the seemingly useless toothpick sized staffs, which was enough for her to derive that whoever had taken her had seen her rampaging and taken her because of it.

The number of bullets, and the uniform formation the men in the doorway were standing in, told her that she hadn't been taken by a lesser gang, but a fully organized syndicate.

There's the click of reloading guns as they all swing to point at her, and a warning shot nicks her cheek. The guns handlers were suited, and she keeps her body lax and ready to move, because if that doesn't scream _mafia,_ she isn't sure what does.

 _(_ _"_ _I mean, you should have realized by now how badly the Oyabun wants to force you into either passing on your bloodline or Bonding with him so that you'll be forced to stay and claim this regional area!")_

She feels her lip curl down slightly, the misalignment flashing her canines in an unintentional warning.

…

…

 _Damn Lobster._

 _…_

 _…_

She snapped out of her quiet recollection when a dry voice cracks through the air in an icy whip.

"I do admit, the fact your first reaction was to escape doesn't bode well for your future here."

She angrily flicks her eyes at the man who had stepped forwards, dressed in a crisp and simple tonal suit- he had features that may have been considered handsome to some, but all she could see were the unreadably dull gray eyes ( _Not unbreakable steel gray like her old mans, or dappled evergreen like her Lobsters-)_ and the imperious tilt to his shoulders as he actively made to look down at where she was still in a combat crouch; or at least a modified version of it.

Her right knee was drawn to where her torso was leaning forwards slightly, weight on the balls of her feet, while her left knee was lifted slightly off the floor with support from her foot and left arm- her right one had been the one used to lever herself into the position, and was still splayed across the floor.

Though unrecognizable, it allowed her to throw herself either forwards or backwards within seconds, and if she chose forwards, the ankle support would hurtle her towards her target, arms to be used to get a grip on them while her legs used the left-over momentum to attack.

( _No-one ever accused Hibari's of not being thorough with their style development, even if it made them look like they were attempting to morph into a flying koala midair.)_

"Neither does the fact I was strapped to a metal table, which, judging by the way it seems to have been used for operations in the past, is used to deal in organ trafficking."

She responds lowly, her voice inflectionless, even as she feels her muscles ache with fatigue she had briefly forgotten about in her previous struggle.

"Did that take your forcibly sharp tongue a moment?"

He says sarcastically, and she feels mildly offended and the urge to show him something sharper. Through the eyeball.

"It seems to have taken yours,"

Was her dry response, and she isn't quite sure her retort even makes sense in context- but she always manages ( _managed)_ to trick her lobster into thinking she had defeated him banter wise through sheer bullshit and a lack of hesitation when she responded, so maybe it didn't matter.

"Not as long as it's taking you to realize your situation,"

Is his callous reminder, and she curls her lip upwards in a confident smirk she didn't feel.

( _Overconfidence makes them think your arrogant, until suddenly you aren't, and its them who's overconfident and with a knife in the jugular.)_

"Do enlighten me."

She drawls, rolling her shoulders to loosen up where they've begun to knot with how long she's held her stance- the click of several guns repositioning responds better than the man could, but he speaks anyways.

"The way I see it, you have 2 options at your disposal- Join my Family, the Carcassa, or die."

Her jaw tightens at the name, and knows she isn't as lucky as to have misheard it.

The Carcassa, a Family minorly involved in the Plot, standing out due to their acquisition of the Cloud Arcobaleno and the fact they were banned from Mafia land due to them trafficking drugs.

"Why do you need me?"

She asks carefully, eyes studying the men's positioning with the growing urge to _run the hell away from this god forsaken Plot._

"Don't think yourself so important,"

He sneers, and the words make her flinch internally, hitting her hard enough to crack whatever her old man and Lobster had managed to build on-top of the jaded bitterness carried over from the Before.

( _She hated being merely another feature, something you kept not because you wanted or needed it, but because you needed a_ Component _of it. She hated not being of note, something not worth loyalty or attention. She hated being her, because they, from the before, had pointed out how needy, selfish, whiny, attention-seeking and annoying she was. But she still gave them her Loyalty, because it was in her nature to give. SHe HaTeD It.)_

"We just need your Flames, you stupid little Cloud."

He sneers, abandoning any attempt at acting witty or snarky, eyes alight with the knowledge that he would take what he wanted, whether she agreed to give it or not.

( _But no-one cared that she hated it, all they cared about was TaKiNg everything she had to give until she was empty and no-longer useful. Then, she was the freaky girl with the syndrome, the haughty girl who never talked to anyone, the creepy one who defended them when they didn't ask her to, acting like she was one of their friends, because she had so much Loyalty to give, until she never got any in return, and she ran herself dry.)_

He scowled when he got no response from where her head had lowered, eyes shadowed by her bangs- even so, he could tell she wasn't listening to him, that her gaze had migrated to stare blankly at the floor.

"Are you ignoring me?!"

He hisses darkly, a low warning growl.

( _She knew this, but she still gave her loyalty to her Lobster and her Old man, and now it hurt so much because she had realized that getting loyalty in return and then suddenly having it cut off was an emotion she didn't know how to deal with, and so it crushed her chest until she was struggling for breath all over again.)_

"I suppose this is your way of retaining dignity? Refusing by not gracing me with an answer?"

He asks, lips suddenly curling into a smug smirk as he found her apparent reason for silence.

( _She didn't want it to hurt. Was It that easy? Just…. deciding not to give her Loyalty anymore? She just wanted the pain to go away, she wanted to be able to breathe again. Even if it meant pushing others away until she had enough space to do so.)_

"Well, I suppose I forgot to mention this,"

He mused, sauntering towards the eerily still girl, taking her lack of movement as resignation.

"But, when I said your second option was dying? I meant _this."_

He placed a hand on her shoulder, fingers digging into it, and forced his Storm Flames into her- for a moment, he met no resistance, the bloody shade swirling in her veins, idly tousling the faint lingering essence of what seemed to be Lightning Flames. He frowned. Maybe she had a secondary Flame nature?

But it was too weak, ashes fleeing in the wind, and so he attempted to push further, ignoring the distant Mist he could feel just beyond her.

Its when she breathes out suddenly and heavily, that he realized she had been holding her breath the entire time.

 ** _"_** ** _You will not have my Loyalty."_**

His eyes barely have time to widen when he catches the glimpse of ( _Burning Violet that surges with inhumane strength, twisting and spinning in its own winds, unwilling and unyielding yet so, so fractured with pure RAGE that forces a tired warrior back into a battle-stance-)_

Before everything **_Burns._**

…

 **(A/N) *immediately falls into dogeza* IM SO SORRY- I was planning on killing Okuri this entire time, and never really felt bad about it until I saw how excited you guys were to see them both live on. I considered making him her informant, but that route leads to the Varia much later in the story, and is ultimately boring- as such, I decided I wouldn't hand in my resignation papers as Satan's Secretary just yet~**

 **...Even if I'm not doing my job really well. I'm more suited to fluff...*Sighs* I need to work on how sad i can make my chapters. By the way, if any of you are wondering about her bullet wounds and why she hasn't broken down yet, its because the Family wrapped her wounds so she would live a bit longer- she just didn't realize. Also, her adult side is repressing the emotions for now.**

 **At any rate, We've hit 100 and over followers! I'm super excited about this, and I'll do my best to ensure my updates stay recent to hold interest- there may be a brief one week period when I won't be able to update, but the time will probably be spent extending how far I've planned.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed the story, and I may post a special omake in the next chapter to celebrate the milestone!**

 **(There isn't going to be individual responses to reviews today I'm afraid, considering how late it is, but I'd like to welcome any new readers to the story!)**


	5. No-ones going to pick you up, Part 2

" _-Jacked up Pineapple loving Godric of Olympus shit stain of a duck prodigy in a Fairy flipping Sanctuary- "_

She wheezed from where she was curled up on her side, gasping for breath to fuel her curses as her body finally decided to revolt against her in the form of Murasaki completely and utterly _stretching her Flame pathways apart._

Well, she _assumed_ they were her Flame pathways, because she was fairly certain that if what her Flames were currently doing were to be done with her actual veins, she would have already combusted. Spectacularly.

She clawed at her chest fruitlessly, clipped nails digging into the fabric of her top, and was peripherally aware of where the Mafia boss and his entourage had collapsed into foaming sprawls of limbs, blood leaking from their rolled back eyes- their Flame signatures were doing something weird as well; having receded so far into themselves that several bodily functions seemed to have had shut down.

Silently noting that massive explosions of her Killing Intent via Murasaki was bad for the health of cannon fodder, she parted her lips for a deep breath when the _holes_ in her back made themselves known, the bandages wrapped sloppily around her chest by the Family having loosened in her commotion.

For a moment, she wondered why nothing was happening, before remembering Cloud Flames were suited to covering large areas, subsequently realizing she may have taken out anyone in her vicinity, and feeling like even more of an idiot.

 _'_ _Sure, blast your freaking signature like a Salazar damned idiot so that not only do you utterly WASTE Murasaki, you make yourself go into convulsions and now I can't feel my body parts where was I again?'_

She groaned quietly, unable to make herself worry about the fact she had completely and utterly screwed herself over sideways if any other enemies decided to come finish her off.

Even so, she was quietly glad her flipping out Flames had purged the invading Storm Flames, much like how they had acted when she first met the old man- the difference being he had simply been poking at her, not trying to push where only few could go. ( _Okuri and her old man.)_

A breath shuddered out of her wheezing lungs, and she knew it wasn't because of her slowing convulsions. Dragging herself to her knees, she pushed back against the wall, dispassionate eyes taking in her surroundings, something she had neglected to do before.

The room was narrow, small, with unpainted and reinforced walls- outside the closet like space though, she could see expensive wooden paneling and golden edged carpet. A mansion, then, and her room a pre-prepared side compartment.

Sighing, her eyes unfocused, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes, mainly because she knew she would be too tired to lift them again- her limbs twitched with aftershocks, and her head rocked forwards to lean against the knees drawn to her chest, the previous spit of fire that had fueled her expletives silencing itself.

 _(Wasn't it enough?)_

Her eye-lids drifted to half mast, and she stared blankly at the worn and torn cloth around her knees.

 _(She just wanted to sleep, she was so, so tired…)_

She wondered idly as she rested, content with the fact her victims would not wake. The man had wanted a Cloud, but he should have had Skull, so why take her?

 _(She felt hollow. There was space not even Murasaki could fill, and it ached with ghost pains, like an old amputation.)_

…. She had probably jacked canon. If there was no Skull here, it meant he must have joined the Carcassa later in the time-line…. but she was pretty sure who-ever stepped up to take over the Family wouldn't be stupid enough to try for another Cloud.

She had deprived the stunt-man of a family.

Granted, one he probably joined out of sheer necessity, or forced bond, but still.

 _(She wanted to cry so badly. She wanted to be a child. Not the slow, fracturing one with Asperger's syndrome that needed special treatment. She just wanted-)_

…. The Arcobaleno owed her for this. Even if he didn't know it. She attempted to raise her head from her knees when she heard tentatively approaching foot-steps, but found there was no will for it.

 _(-Family. She just wanted Family, so badly that it scorched up her throat in a hacking bile that made her mouth dry and head pound, but no-one wanted to give it to her- All they did was TaKe)_

She felt disturbingly apathetic when black sandals hesitantly stopped a few feet from her, watching through the slim slit between her inner thighs, head still pushed firmly into the arm laid over her drawn knees.

There was silence, and she noted that she felt faintly groggy, mind befuddled and stuttering- when the quiet stretched out, she blandly turned interest on Murasaki- she felt unsettled, and it took her a moment to place the feeling.

While before her Flame exhaustion made itself known in a leaden ash that felt like it was bogging her down, the ash felt like it couldn't quite fill out its own urn. Like there wasn't enough of it.

…

She was messing up a lot lately, wasn't she?

From killing what was hers, to forcing her reserves into becoming too large for her own Flames.

"Your Killing Intent is notable, though it seems to have affected those closer to you harder than the rest of the people in this mansion- indeed, I would have passed out myself if I wasn't just outside your range."

She wants to sleep, so she doesn't know why the woman with the scratchy and accented Italian is talking to her.

…She was tired. Had everyone been talking to her in Italian this entire time?

She doesn't respond, staring blankly at her feet, but the woman doesn't seem to have expected her to.

"I believe an introduction is in order. My name is Kinoko Difo, diplomat and proxy to the Difo Famiglia- We initiated contact with the Carcassa Family once they let word leak 2 days ago that they had acquired a Cloud. I hope you don't take offense, but as you might understand, obtaining someone of Cloud nature is relatively rare, considering how they have a reputation of self-destructing themselves rather than submit when their territories are subverted."

Kinoko pauses, seemingly to take a breath from the rush of words that stopped just before being overwhelming, and she sighed quietly through her nose.

Primarily useless information, but still too much to give to an unknown.

Dammit, she had been a _psychologist_ in her last life, or the closest thing to one, and she damn well knew what was going on, if the subtle yet pointedly noninvasive cloak of Rain Flames wasn't the blaring neon sign it was.

A common enough trick when working with wild animals and distrustful behavior; focusing on appearing non-threatening by getting the target used to the voice and the carefully unprovocative tone used when speaking.

"Saying so, we were…unaware that you had been unwilling in this procedure."

She felt a buzz start at the back of her head, and annoyance began to seep into her mind, mingling irritably with her growing confusion.

"Where are we."

She says, short and to the point, finally flicking a glance at the flesh around her wrists- true enough, they showed signs of having been restrained for longer than she thought. She felt vaguely like a capsizing ship; horribly off kilter.

2 days, and when she woke up Murasaki had still been effectively comatose, meaning she had faced Flame Exhaustion around the time she woke up- if that was so, she wasn't sure what her state had been before that, and was suddenly irrevocably glad she hadn't woken during that time frame.

Or maybe she physically couldn't?

…

…She silently vowed to avoid going on a Cloud Rampage again if she could help it, because that was a cringe worthy level of ' _I fucked up'._

"-assa Family, Italy."

Kinoko finished from whatever splurge of information she had been giving her before, and she attempted to blink the blurriness from her vision.

"What do you want?"

She asks lowly, feeling the words grate against her dry throat- the old man had taught her to prevent hunger from clouding her mind, and while somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that she was famished, she was also aware how long the human body would go without food, and thus ignored it for now.

"To gain a possible ally."

Her jaw clenched, and found that that her vision wasn't clearing despite how much she blinked.

"…"

"We won't force you into anything, but considering how no-one came after you despite it being 2 days, you haven't alleged yourself yet. You're experiencing a mix of blood loss and something a bit beyond normal Flame Exhaustion, and if I leave you here, you won't last much longer unless you willingly let my Famiglia treat you. Have you claimed a territory yet?"

"...I haven't. What's to say I won't just take your treatment and give you the same out-come this here boss faced?"

It was a taunt, barely hidden as a question, but she doesn't rise to the bait, instead watching her with cool eyes that made her clammy skin prickle- there's a lull as Kinoko seems to take out a phone, and the sound of typing bounces off the walls.

Bemused, she raises her head to appraise the woman- she looked Asian, with dark clothing and hair put into an undercut top-knot, though her bright blue eyes hint at either foreign descent or powerful Rain Flames.

After a moment of heated typing that amused her far more than it should have, the surprisingly soft edged and almost childish looking woman meets her burning gaze with a confident one, apparently more secure in her impulsive decision to talk to her.

Received orders, then?

"We won't ask you to join our Famiglia, we already have a Cloud. You, however, are…. _interesting._ Quite a bit of potential, and even if you aren't recruited into a far more powerful Famiglia, you'd make quite the hitwoman as a freelance. How about this, Medical service in return for the Difo Famiglia having primary concern down the road?"

"Refused."

She says blandly, catching the woman flat footed as she stared at her in disbelief.

"Sorry?"

"Medical service isn't even with obligation to a Family above else, not to mention I'm quite set on remaining a civilian."

"…You're insane."

She says in perfect deadpan, looking morbidly fascinated despite herself at the sincerity she had said her words.

"If I'm connecting the dots correctly, you would have been the Cloud to go Berserker in Japan, right? Weaker Families and Gangs have already sent out head-hunters for you, and your Flame Reserves have far outgrown the size which can masquerade as civilian."

…. She isn't stupid enough to not recognize defeat when she hears it, but _damn it all to technicolored hell_ if she wasn't committing to any one family, when they didn't _deserve her violet forsaken loyalty._

Freelance it was, she decided clinically. And hey, maybe she could still get that job at the convenience store!

Her eyes sharpened, and focused in on the woman with predatory gleam.

"Medical Service and Sponsorship in return for 3 favors; within reason and ability; down the line."

A delicate eyebrow was raised, and the air became heavier as the woman went from soft, conning deals to calculated professionalism when she realized that she knew full well what she was doing, faded as the world was getting around her.

"Sponsorship?"

"Provide me with a chance to gain scholarship into a mafia school, where I can build contacts- this works in your favor, really, since not only does it make your Famiglia appear competent for working with the _berserker cloud,_ but you also have her tied to you with 3 favors."

"What happened to being a Civilian? 5 favors."

"Buried, not burnt. Don't push your luck."

"You may not be strong enough to make 3 favors count. 5."

"Look at my Flame reserve size, and say that again. _3."_

"…Deal,"

She says reluctantly, and something unwinds with relief in her stomach. She just wanted to live, and if Mafia land was anything to go by, a Mafia School would keep away any sharks until she could handle them.

She wasn't an idiot, making the Carcassa, _comic relief of the show,_ just _barely_ pass out had taken every single stubborn bone in her body, and then some- there was a reason she couldn't feel her limbs anymore, and why her vision seemed to have lost most of its saturation, spinning wheezily.

 _(…She feels like she's falling apart at the seams, fumbling deals and crushed resolve.)_

"I never did get your name,"

Kinoko invites, and she feels something churn bitterly behind her sternum, because she had already chosen her name, and it felt like the final tribute before the cremation.

"…Going with Japanese phrasing, _Hibari Rydia."_

 _(Her old man was smart enough to make sure the Oyabun knew that it was Mirai who had gone MIA, not another Hibari. It was a small comfort, that made her ache with the urge to wake up to the feel of powerful Mist suffusing the morning dew riddled Tsukiyama garden, to wake up and see the azure heavens stirring with a cooling breeze that churned with the white embellishments of cloud.)_

She thinks it's worth it when she sees all the color drain from Kinoko's face at her chosen, no, _inherited_ last name, and a smirk may have stolen her lips before everything seemed to flip starboard, and she was finally allowing herself to tip over the precipice, free falling into an abyss with nothing to lose but her life.

…

( _I can't repress this anymore, yeah?)_

 _…_

 _(It's going to hurt you a lot, you know?)_

 _…_

 _(You're too young to deal with this.)_

 _…_

 _(But I'm tired too, yeah?)_

 _…_

 _(I'm sorry Rydia, Murasaki.)_

 _…_

 _(I'm fading.)_

 _…_

 _(…I won't take what I have with me, yeah?)_

 _…_

 _(You experienced some of what you were- what I am- but it was diluted, sparks compared to an inferno, yeah?)_

 _…_

 _(You aren't ready for me to merge with you, but….im so…. tired. I want to sleep, please, I just want to SlEeP, but I couldn't, and it HuRt So MuCh-)_

 _…_

 _(Hey…. Rydia?)_

 _…_

 _(You're finally going to be as iNsAnE as we REALLY used to be, yeah?)_

 _…_

 _(...you aren't the body snatcher.)_

 _…_

 _(I am, yeah?)_

 _…_

 _(…. I've already lived my life.)_

 _…_

 _(Now?)_

 _…_

 _(It's your turn to burn them all to the ground underneath your heels.)_

 _..._

 _…_

 _…_

 _(Good Night, Darlings.)_

…

…

…

She wakes up in the breath of one heart-beat and the next, exhaling softly and not caring she had broken her breathing pattern- for a moment, she's light with something approaching detachment, before a weight slams into her chest, and her eyes snap open.

She barely takes in the wooden paneling over her head, so familiar to her as the ceilings in her old man's dojo like compound, before her hands are wrenching itself to her abdomen, yet finding nothing but her bare stomach.

She feels prickles at the back of her eyes as everything hits her at once, and she's perhaps expecting to feel tears stream down her cheeks, a response this body seems fond of repeating, but instead a burn at her cheeks say that her lips have split open into a broken grin.

Surges from her dry throat in a bitter croak, and she folds herself upwards so that she's supporting her body weight with her leaden hands, sitting up in what she identifies to be a western style bed- it's a bit disorientating, after so long spent in futons, but she brushes off the feeling easily.

The grin slides off her face, and her lips relax into an impassive line- her eyes are lazily lidded as she examines the slightly bloodied bandages bound tightly around her chest and waist, with part of her stomach to her hip line exposed in a slim strip of slightly darker olive skin- her pants have been left alone, slightly torn and bruised skin already scabbing over through the tears in the black material.

She takes a moment as her stomach flips unpleasantly, complaining of her hunger in a quiet rumble, head spinning faintly with nausea- the weight on her chest hasn't ceased, and she finds that she can't breathe around it properly.

She looks miserable, as she catches her reflection in the floor length mirror mounted on the wall in front of the bed- flanking it are two folding doors, with the floors tatami yet the walls hardwood, the room a mixture of western and Asian housing.

Her eyes look glassed over and dull, and she raises an eyebrow at the fact that the russet around her irises had gone from a dark gradient around her pupils, to a bright scarlet that mingled with the rest of her amber iris like a frozen ink-blot, turning the shade a prominent cognac rather than the faint suggestion it used to be. The skin under her eyes have turned dark and ashen with a need for sleep- combined with the random streaks of dried blood and the congealing carmine in her hair, and she looked like something out of a horror film.

…

She reluctantly turned her attention on the crowd of ( _ReDREdReD)_ corpses that stand gathered around her in unmoving pillars, faces contorted and mouths hanging open in silent screams- they're coated in their own blood, and watch her with skeletal pits where their faces should be, clothing torn and papery skin riddled with maggots that chew through their bone white tendons.

She sighs mournfully, frowning at them in a chiding manner as she swung her legs off the bed, uncaring of the IV that had been ripped out of her arm in the movement as she turned considering eyes on the items on the bed-side table near her.

"I thought I left you guys in the Before?"

She asks them distractedly, picking up the round purple pill placed on top of a note- it says something about helping her recover from her Flame Exhaustion, so she dutifully ignores its resemblance to Basil's DWM pills as she uncaps the bottle of water and washes the capsule down; wondering about the chances she had just poisoned herself.

"Call me Alice, and I wonder, will I shrink, or will I grow?"

She mused in an almost sing-song lilt, watching the figures from the corner of her eye- their always clearer when she watches them like this, and she smiles fondly when they don't respond. She liked them, they never asked her for anything.

She frowns at all the ( _ReDREdReD)_ though, and feels the cold prickle of eyes at the back of her neck.

Ah, now she remembers- her insanity derived paranoia had been because she didn't like it when they were behind her, because she knew they always came closer when she couldn't see them.

She turned so that her back was to the wall, and froze at the sight of the corpses that had moved so that they stood at the edge of her bed, eyes finding ( _ReDREdReD)_ hair, but a disturbing lack of evergreen eyes.

…

 _Oh._

 _…_

She didn't like them anymore, she thought as she stared blankly at what was hers, the bottle in her hand slowly crumpling in her tightening grip.

She felt something cold slide down her spine, and anger began to bubble in her chest, Murasaki wakening like the drowsy eyes of a Lioness.

"…You don't belong with them,"

She tells Okuri, voice quiet and dark with irritation that had turned her eyes a pale lavender that glowed with a pearlescent gleam.

Her will is enough to drive them away, make them drift back to the perimeter of the room, but her eyes stay locked on the Lobster red hair of the unwelcome shadow, staring as the others enfold him and hide him away, for it was not his time to join the tea party, and games were always more fun when the right players played.

Her lip curled back in distaste when they all began melting into shadows, before smoothing out her expression and tipping the crushed water bottle to her lips, gratefully allowing the cool liquid to soothe the dryness at the back of her throat- a moment later, the door opened, and what seemed to be a maid started at the fact she was awake.

The woman warily edged forwards, placing the tray she had brought with her on the coffee table in front of the sleek placement of a chabudai and zabuton that were slightly off to the side of the room; previously unseen from her angle due to the shoji screen that divided the two sections; and frowned at the displaced IV.

She curtsied slightly, before quickly backing out and away; much to the amusement of the shadows that stirred slightly but didn't come to form for they knew yet another would soon be on their way.

Even so, they watched as she walked over to the tray, the now awakened yet still slightly weak Murasaki swilling comfortably in her pathways. Apart from the expensive looking bowl full of what seemed to be chicken broth and the necessary eating utensils, she noted a distinct lack of her weapons.

…

Yeah, the broth was drugged.

 _2 minutes,_ and she didn't bother to turn her gaze to the two Mafiosi that had entered the room, instead calmly folding into seiza on one of the Japanese style pillows and beginning to eat the food given with a muttered 'Itadakimasu'; a silent request had Murasaki rumbling through her veins and propagating the amount of white blood cells pre-emptively.

The two people, recognized to be Kinoko and a man with rounded cheeks and piercing black eyes, settled opposite her, waiting politely as she unhurriedly consumed her dish and instead used the time to probe lightly at her with Rain and Sun Flames respectively; eyes carefully studying her.

"My apologies for not giving you more time to change your bandages and wash the lifeblood from yourself, but as you might be aware, things are rather…. delicate, as of late. I am the boss of the Difo Famiglia, Akihiko Difo. I understand you were interested in being sponsored to a mafia school?"

He asks when she sets down the spoon, direct and to the point. His Rain Guardian shakes her head in fond exasperation at his bluntness, and something bitter curled in her chest.

( _Why did she give him her loyalty? Didn't she know he was just going to use it?)_

He sent Kinoko a sheepish glance, but quickly regained his boss persona as she tilted her head in agreement, lazy eyes studying them, the ice like gaze unsuited to her warm tones.

"Before we get into that, I believe you claimed to be a Hibari, while their clan is prominently of Chinese and Japanese descent- forgive my bluntness, but I would have placed you to be of Italian or Indian ancestry."

She raised an eyebrow at his assumption of her blood line- while curious, since she had indeed been of Indian background Before, she was more interested in how they both seemed to have defaulted to attempting to appeal to her apparently 'Cloud' nature by forgoing any pleasantries or small talk.

"To my knowledge, my blood is a Japanese and British mix, if it confuses you further. The Hibari name is inherited, not passed down."

There was a pause as the two digest that, before nodding slowly in what she knew was baffled acceptance, even if their poker faces were truly of note.

"Then, if I may ask- why should we sponsor you, when giving you a chance at a scholarship would normally be enough so? Not to mention, a Scholarship would provide you with the financial gain on its own."

She smiles then, a vicious curve that glints her canines, and asks them in a lazy drawl that makes the shadows stir in excitement, even as it makes Kinoko's hand twitch towards the gun holster on her thigh.

"Really, you know as well as I do that the scholarship finances only extend to cover academic endeavors- considering my unusual weaponry needs, it is unlikely the expenses would be covered, mafia school or not."

Akihiko sighs in dry amusement, watching her with darker than night eyes.

"I don't know where the 'Clouds are all brawn, no brain' spiel came from, I truly don't. I don't suppose you would consider either extending the amount of favors or joining our Famiglia?"

She hums under her breath, feeling like she had finally settled completely into her skin after an entire decade of stalling as a familiar slyness tinges her mind.

A trait from the Before, she had always prized herself on her ability to manipulate certain outcomes due to her extensive knowledge of the human psyche- A Slytherin and Secondary Mist indeed, even if said secondary Flame was lacking in her new life.

"I might be willing to extend the amount to 4, on the condition my weapons, the staffs and the gun and bullets, are returned to me, and you don't attempt to work loop-holes through my conditions."

"Deal- Sponsorship if you manage to gain scholarship into the Mafia School, and completed Medical Service for your current wounds as well as the returning of your weaponry on the account of 4 favors from you down the line, which are to be completed without question as long as it is within your reason and ability."

He says, and Kinoko pushes a sheet of paper detailing the terms towards her, the woman's Boss's Sun Flame glowing merrily at the top.

"Combine your Flames with the document to make it binding,"

She says, and she presses a burning finger tip to the top of the page, allowing Murasaki to trickle into the already present Sun Flame- she doesn't expect it when the whip like discus of violet suddenly lurches, almost drowning out the Sun Flame despite it being a bare brush of power.

There's an awkward pause, before the document is slowly retrieved and the Boss raises an eyebrow at her disbelievingly- she's uncomfortably aware of the fact the tips of her ears are burning to high heaven as he comments dryly-

"At-least I know the favors will be worth it in the future,"

And it takes everything she has not to break her impassive mask and scowl in embarrassment.

A few moments later, and Kinoko is handing her another sheaf of papers and a pen (Where the hell was she _getting_ these from? Did all right hands have hammer space?), and a quick glance at the top of the document confirmed it as the entrance examination for the school- sorry, _highly sophisticated academy._

Her eye twitches at the stuffy and near unpronounceable name of the school, and silently decides to never say it aloud- She flicks a questioning glance upwards when Kinoko sets a timer, and the Rain explains with a-

"They consider how long you took to complete it as a factor of whether you gain scholarship."

…

 _Half an hour later,_ and she's had to work through several pages with questions in completely different languages (all of which she knew, thank Godric,) trick and university level questions sandwiched in between ones so easy they were offensive, and a 3-page essay she had turned into a 5 pager because _screw them_ , if they were going to give her a migraine, they were making their way through a blend of Hindi, Arabic, Japanese, and mandarin on the theory of the dimensional planes of existence.

Kinoko stared at her with slightly widened eyes that turned considering as they went over the extra credit questions at the end that tested Flame Theory, before smirking and nodding slowly- maybe, she might have cared enough to try and decipher the expression, but her wounds had finally begun to ache something fierce that made her want to break something, she was nursing a head-ache the size of Russia, and the shadows behind her had been breathing down her neck for quite some time now.

"Ah, I forgot to tell you- we got you a few changes of clothes based on what you were wearing before, all of them were placed in the joint bathroom. We'll send the papers off today, so you should get your response tomorrow- it _is_ a boarding school by the way, but you seemed to have grasped that already."

She gives her a salesman smile, and it doesn't take her long after Kinoko has left to finally stand, unbothered by how long she had been in seiza as she makes her way to the second door that flanked the mirror, pushing it open and grabbing the first aid kit on the floor beside it as she went.

She clicks the folding door shut behind her, and sets about unwrapping her chest- almost immediately, she realizes that the wounds had been left open to drain, so for good measure she runs Murasaki through them, allowing the heat to kill any bacteria.

The pit like depressions were already scabbing over, and she felt her lip quirk at the way they were spaced- thankfully, none had entered higher than her mid back, meaning she wouldn't have to rehabilitate her movements- that being said, she was insanely lucky they hadn't punctured any vital organs, the two small holes placed in such a way that they almost seemed like snake bite piercings, both a few inches above her left hip bone- the exit holes were slightly larger, in ragged flesh red openings that looked as though they had only recently stopped bleeding.

She shrugged off the rest of her clothes, stepping into the western style shower and idly noting the bullet graze scabbing over on her thigh, before realizing she had probably torn it open several times with all her motion.

…

That…. was going to be a recurring theme, probably. She couldn't bring herself to care much, grimacing as she tugged apart strands of hair practically melded together with crusty dark brown blood, suddenly glad she had insisted on the asymmetrical bob her chin length hair had been cut into.

Her eye twitched, but she reluctantly began going through the painstaking process of making her hair separate strands again, mind wandering over her circumstances.

It…. wasn't that bad if she ignored the corpses staring at her from the walls. She wouldn't get to be a convenience store worker, but if she was a hitwoman no-one could lock her away into white padded rooms unless they caught the white rabbit first, and she found it impossible to think of her ever being late enough to have Alice chase her down her own rabbit hole.

Rolling her shoulders to ease out a cramp, the hot spray of water making the blood wash out easier, she bit her lip as she caught sight of the promised changes of clothing stacked on the sink counter, what seemed to be her practice notebooks placed neatly beside them.

…

She had forgotten about those.

For a moment, she entertained the idea of simply burning them, before she remembered the hours of linguistics she had poured into them, marked by the old mans pen where he corrected her.

She sighed in defeat, and eyed the blood that had soaked the book edges, turning off the shower water to begin using the soaps placed on the shelves.

The carmine liquid had probably already rendered several pages unreadable.

…

Really, apart from the old mans corrections, she didn't need them anymore.

…

Hell, her Lobster couldn't read them anymore, so, _what was the point?_

…

She wondered if it was his blood on the books.

…

It probably was, she had dragged his head into her lap, near her pockets after all- more reason to burn them.

…

…She wasn't burning them.

…

Dammit.

She groaned silently, and thumped her head against the shower wall perhaps more aggressively than warranted.

Dammit all to hell.

…. She just wanted her family back.

A wry smile tugged her lips, and she wondered if by choosing the Hibari legacy, if she had unwittingly made herself Kyoya's aunt.

…

…

She exhaled slowly and sharply, and repeated the last thought in her head once again, feeling so _done_ with everything. She was the aunt of Hibari Kyoya, Future Demon of Namimori and the Vongola Decimo's Cloud Guardian.

The thought dragged a giggle from her lips, and perhaps she looked as insane as she was, laughing hysterically as the flicked-on shower head dragged a mixture of soap suds and blood from her body, but she found she didn't care; because evidently the bloody Plot didn't.

( _It didn't care about Okuri either.)_

…

( _Later, she would regret not looking more into where she was in the time-line more thoroughly.)_

* * *

 **(You guys should know by now what bold messages in the middle of a chapter mean~ Remember how I said I would be writing a special omake for TimeLess reaching over 100 followers and Favorites? Well, I received a short story request from** Jucca **! Specifically, they requested me creating an AU where the Lobster reads her stories, but while I may not be able to write that, I'll be more than glad to share with you guys a related plot bunny that may make you lot feel better; so, here's another one shot of Future! Rydia in the Varia~)**

* * *

"Bel-sempai, she's going to skin us alive."

"Shishishishsi! Stop talking you stupid Frog, the Prince tires of your incessant whining~"

"Bel-sempai, we're going to die young."

Flan intoned blandly, blinking lazily at the blonde Storm Guardian who had draped himself disrespectfully over the blanket-less queen-sized bed of their resident Cloud, the bed-room nearly minimalist compared to the rest of their quarters.

Hell, if Lussuria hadn't insisted on the intricate lavender Persian rug that was splayed across the floor, or the set of comfy looking furniture that made up a sleek seating arrangement, she probably would have left the room at the Chinese lamps and thick, purple, wine colored drapes that hid the room from the sun.

Despite his flat protests, the Mist walked into the room anyways, trotting over to where his senior was grinning in a deranged manner at the old and worn looking notebooks they had taken from her towering bookshelves; splayed in an arc in front of him.

Really, they were supposed to be locating the Cloud to inform her of her latest assignment, but it came as no surprise that the prince had taken the opportunity to snoop in her quarters, soon finding the ominously blood-stained work books- now, he was belly down on her bed, with his teal haired comrade studying the books curiously as he hovered above him.

They had been arranged in an order of sorts, and Flan dutifully ignored Belphegor's hair-raising cackles as the first book was pulled open, cover sticking slightly due to the blood that blurred the neatly inked characters.

Initially, they had found themselves morbidly curious and confused at the _horrendous_ linguistics crawling the pages in their Clouds distinctive hand, with an unfamiliar writing correcting her in a red pen, but as they got further in, they soon realized that the mangled beginning had been the introduction to a story, the writing getting better and more fluent the deeper into the book they went.

For once, they were quiet, similarly curiosity driven of their elders unspoken of background, and before they knew it, they had progressed to the next book; the story spanning itself across them in a series.

Each book seemed to have been her whetstone for the languages she now knew, and though Flan got the vague sense they were trespassing in her territory, he brushed the feeling off. After all, it had long since been revealed that she didn't _have_ territories.

Belphegor found his attention more on the foreign hand, genius easily translating her slightly mangled first attempts- the handwriting, while correcting her grammar and vocabulary, also scrawled snarky comments and backhanded compliments in the margins.

"He's watching you."

A cold voice cuts through their silent attention, and Flan blinks slowly, the only note of his startling- during the impromptu reading session, the teal head had migrated to the bed, forcefully reading the story despite the many knives in his hat and the hand Belphegor was using to crush his face away from the stories, unwilling to share.

The prince turned his Cheshire grin on the Cloud as she moved from the doorway, eyes unreadable- she doesn't give them time to respond, apart from a few derisive cackles from the blonde, before she's knocking a fist into both of their heads.

"Don't go through my stuff, unless you have my permission."

"Shishishishsi! The prince will do whatever he likes!"

"Rydia-nee-san, I claim by-stander."

"The only reason you both aren't dead is because you're both mine as well,"

She cuts in blankly, having swiped the books as they recovered from the almost concussion inducing hit.

Flan moves to speak, hackles rising in defense as Belphegor moves to provoke her with his grin, before they glimpse her Bond- ( _Cold wind that slices yet doesn't draw blood, impotent wrath that causes violet to swell with unholy grief, and insanity that swirls agitatedly in its own current, yet a light lavender that redirects it from them-)_ And what slips from their lips are both her assignment and a derogatory insult respectively.

They won't apologize, she knows, as she watches them saunter and amble from her room, but she doesn't expect them to- it still _hurts_ though, because he had never read her stories, but she tries to bury it under the knowledge of the ones who had.

A dry smile curls her lips, and she puts the books back into the shelf, making note to get her two little brothers something after she finishes her mission; giving someone food without their asking or poisoning it is the general 'Imnotmadatyou' system going through the Varia this time- Last time, for some weird reason she still couldn't place, it had been giving the other a half-eaten pizza.

(Squalo swears it was Belphegor, but she had stopped taking him at face value after the pig tails.)

* * *

 **A/N-**

 **To;** Cake Bird, Guest, and GuestEtha-

 **I'm glad you're all enjoying the story, and that I got to evoke the intended reactions!**


	6. No-ones going to pick you up, Part 3

Frigid grey skies and wind of equal monochrome cold brushed finger tips of white across the heavens, the clouds mere wisps trailing in the gentle nipping of the breeze that stirred the lush grass around her.

The wild expanse of green had faded to form a desaturated winter backdrop that enveloped her, swaying in the winds that heralded snow to come as they drifted in and out of her half-lidded vision- she was lying on her back in the overgrown wilderness of a garden she had found, the patch of land part of the sprawling bastard of a mansion, presumably forgotten if the clusters of striking wild flowers were to be believed.

She slowed her breathing, and allowed her eyes to slide close all the way, uncaring of how thin the sleeveless and high collared white top she was wearing was- her combat pants had been exchanged for form fitting calf length slacks, feet bare and buried in the freezing dirt.

She relaxed further into the soft and un-weeded grass, allowing the cold to creep across her skin in blossoms of prickling goosebumps as she watched the jerky violet of her Flames dance behind her eye-lids.

Idly coaxing the awkwardly moving flames into moving where she desired, she belatedly realized that the way she was going about re-habilitating Murasaki was akin to how her old man had played with his own Mist Flames when the mornings were lazy and green tea was being poured into well-loved cups; allowing it to course where it pleased like a curious puppy yet gently nudging it to different directions like the wizened old nose of a wise dog.

As the pulse of her signature became stronger because of Murasaki becoming used to her much larger reserves, she allowed warm tears to slide from the corners of her shut eyes, feeling it trace burning paths down the sides of her face, curl into the sensitive shells of her ears, and drip softly into the dark earth.

Her wounds were raw in the way a physical tear of the skin could never be, and while she knew her tears were a waste of bodily fluids, allowing them to fall made her feel like they were washing away a bit of her misery whenever she did.

A stupid notion, since she had managed to make herself cry on command once she realized her hollow state of being wasn't one for encouraging the tears, and if there was no emotion to the diamonds that fell from her lashes, how could they lighten her load?

She slid her eyes open once she finally began to heat up from the steady pulse of Murasaki under her skin, in time with her calming heart-beat, and waited for the child watching her to make himself known.

She could sense him under the icicle ridden branches of the wisteria trees that lined the garden edges, Storm Flames a pulsating core in his chest, burning with surprising resolve that made the eyes burning unsubtly into her left flank obvious to the point of ludicrousy.

The tears came to an abrupt halt, and she pointedly turned on her side so that her back was facing her observer, unheeding of the crunch of grass under heavy footfalls as he neared her warily.

"Are you not freezing, Sai?"

A young voice demanded, high pitch telling her he hadn't so much as breached the threshold of puberty, and she slid her eyes closed, aware that her dismissive attitude had made his Flames spike in annoyance.

"Monsters don't freeze."

She drawled flippantly, humoring him for a vague reason that curled with spite in her stomach. There was a pause, before he replied with a stubborn bitterness that surprised her.

"The Boss's Guardians are monsters, and they freeze just fine, Sai."

"They're not very good monsters then, are they?"

Another pause, and the footsteps slowly inched closer until her keen ears picked up his breathing just a few feet away from her.

"I think you're lying, Sai."

"Do you now?"

"You're not a monster. Monsters are strong, and the Boss says strong people should train a lot. You're just lying there, Sai."

Murasaki spiked, and her jaw tightened, unsure of why his words had dug as deep as they had, like the twisting of an old knife in her side.

 _(I'm not strong)_

"How do you know I _haven't_ trained a lot?"

"You were crying. Only the weak cry, Sai."

Her eye-lids parted, now openly curious, and she rolled backwards so that she was looking up at the smaller Storm, taking in the multitude of band-aids and bandages covering him, her lazy, predator like eyes easily finding his large, startled grey ones- his hair was a bright platinum blonde, skin flushed from the cold despite the thick green scarf wrapped around his neck, several sizes too large.

Over-sized seemed to be the theme for the rest of his clothing, black pants and a clashing carmine sweater that hung far past his hands, and she allowed an amused tilt to curve her lips.

"An expected view to be gained from the streets."

He flinched backwards, eyes widening distrustfully, and she halted her smirk before she started baring teeth.

"How- "

"You called the Difo Don 'Boss' instead of a more personalized title, meaning you aren't familiar with the Famiglia yet. Where we are right now is a place worth 3 hours of searching, and is too far from the main hub of this mansion for you to have found me by chance, unless you were also exploring, something which a Difo mafioso would have no need to do.

Clothes fitting you haven't been found yet, and all your bandages are a day old at best. The way you recited the Dons words is akin to a broken record, and yet you don't sound convinced of them- Not to mention how easily you approached me. Anyone well versed with the on-goings currently, wouldn't have so much as poked me with one of my own staffs."

His jaw clenched, and she had the warning of enraged eyes as stormy as the heavens above them, before they flashed crimson, and she was tilting her head to instinctively avoid the spurt of bright red fire that had scarred the earth where her head had been, crumbling slightly as the disassemble factor came into play.

"Stop talking like you know everything about me, Sai!"

He seethed, and she gave him an unimpressed look, extending Murasaki so that it pushed his Flames a bit further into the boy and just out of reach- her technique was wobbly, and wouldn't hold for long unless she irrevocably damaged him, but for now he couldn't do anything more eye-catching that would compromise her solitude.

"Training is what makes a human strong,"

She recited coolly, all the indulgent spite draining from her voice as she folded to her full height; at-least 2 feet and then some on the boy; impassive expression watching as he paled but refused to stumble away from her, meeting her eyes defiantly.

"Resolve is what makes a human monstrous."

Her head tilted to the right, the corresponding shoulder lifting in a mocking shrug as she broke the stone-cold front to plaster on a sly grin at his faintly terrified confusion.

"And in the Mafia?"

She bared her teeth in a mockery of a grin, shoulders falling lax as the tooth-pick sized staff in her closed fist extended into its true form with a burst of purple flame.

"Resolve means _this."_

She spun the staff over a hand, before smashing it into the ground- she felt the bullet wounds in her back stretch with the miniscule effort; healing skin tearing once more; and she leapt out of range, watching indifferently as the ground exploded from her point of impact with a shudder that trembled the ground like the beginning pulse of a tiny earth-quake.

Ignoring the boy flailing in the upthrown dirt that had nearly buried him, ground around the impact shattered, she allowed the staff to disappear as she strode away languidly, wondering if she could find a tree somewhere to nap, though she supposed a roof would do in a pinch.

…

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. She really wasn't.

"Go away, brat."

She growled, laid in the crook of a leaf-less sakura tree like a particularly sleepy tiger- the boy reluctantly crept out from where he was hiding behind the flimsy cover of a supporting pillar, glaring at her and flushing under the amused stares of the passing Mafiosi.

She had been unable to find another secluded spot that was still garden like, and had grumpily settled for the sakura garden just outside the mansions main entrance, doing her best to ignore the confused looks she was getting. No, she didn't miss her old man's Tsukiyama garden. Shut up.

"Teach me how to do that, Sai!"

He yelled up at her insistently, and she felt her eye twitch.

"No."

She refused flatly, and a pulse of Murasaki and a well-aimed kick both completely ripped open any hopes she had of her bullet wounds healing with minimum pain, as well as dropped an entire tree on the boy.

Granted, the tree was rather small, and she missed by a good few feet, but the point still stood as she slipped away to the sound of several Mafiosi stirring up an alarmed commotion.

…

"Stop being an asshole, Sai!"

He howled up at where she was laid across the railings of a balcony, ignoring the way Kinoko was laughing hysterically over her paperwork stacked desk; her office being the one she had chosen for her new perch on virtue of it being 4 stories high and over a small koi pond.

This time, she flat out threw a potted plant at him.

…

"Why can't you go find someone else?!"

"No-one else can do that, Sai!"

"Look, kid, the only reason I can do that is because of my Flame-Type. The best you can do to replicate that is either turn into the damned hulk or shove enough of your Storm Flames into the ground to flat out dissolve it, a field I have next to zero experience in."

"But you do have experience in it, Sai?"

"…"

"YOU TOTALLY DO! HEY, GET BACK HERE- "

…

"What do I get for showing you how to use wide-range Storm Attacks?"

She finally conceded after what had to be at-least 6 hours of trying to ditch the Storm, unwilling as she was to seriously hurt him- after all, giving the Difo Famiglia something to hold over her head wasn't something she was keen on.

He hesitated for a moment, before tilting his chin up challengingly, meeting her eyes with little to no hesitation.

"What would you want, Sai?"

She hummed, feeling her hair sway in the breeze from where she was crouched precariously on the roof-top edge, the boy standing on the balcony below her.

"Were you on the streets long enough to get a half decent information network going? You would have had to have one, street rats tend to stick to each other."

"More than half decent. You want information, Sai?"

His confidence lifted into a question at the end, and now genuinely interested, she leant forward, just shy of overbalancing and tipping over the balls of her feet.

"Not now, no…How about this, I'll teach you the basics of Storm Flame manipulation, and in return, you start spreading a bit of gossip for me~"

"Gossip, Sai?"

He asked uneasily, appropriately wary, even when she waved a dismissive hand, smirking like the cat who got the canary.

"Gossip is the best way to start building a reputation, didn't you know? Considering how you didn't outright refuse, I'll start reading off the fine-print. I'll tell you about my strengths and a bit of my story, and you tell that story to a few of your more trusted rats, yeah?

Get them to start spreading the story. No need to add embellishments, they'll form of their own accord- before you ask, I just need a bit of a base to build my reputation off if I'm going to become a Free-lance hitman. Later, when I have proper need for your network, I'll teach you a few more unique Storm Flame applications I read about, long back.

Easy, you give me information, I give you a new technique that matches the quality of said information."

He paused, looking at her with faintly narrowed eyes.

"You won't make me go against the Difo Family, Sai?"

"I respect few things- Loyalty and my old man. I won't make you go against what is yours."

He grinned roguishly, exposing the gaps in his teeth, and stuck out a hand at her, straining to lift it high enough.

"Deal. I'll build a great information network! Then you'll HAVE to teach me how to do that cool technique! They call me Red, Sai!"

"Rydia Hibari,"

She blinked at him in bemusement, having not anticipated his exuberance, but reached out and shook his hand on it anyways, grip firm- even so, she nearly flinched back when she felt his Flames tentatively nudge against Murasaki, and she wasn't sure when she had dropped his hand, or why she had done so, but she gave him a curt nod before tipping backwards off the roof.

Kinoko should have the Academy's response by now; and so she ignored the way the moon had flipped starboard and the sky strained to touch the earth as she forced a rotation in the air, creating more resistance- her feet stretched out, hooking over the balcony edge she had been about to free-fall past, and stoutly dismissed the agony piercing her back as well as Red's alarmed shout, using the way they were hooked to place her hands on the bottom of the balcony and neatly flip onto the one below it, landing on her feet in front of Kinoko's office.

The Rain flicked a glance up at her from where she was leaning against her desk, having been talking to a lithe man with hair a striking cerulean, clearly dyed- he turned to examine her, Mist Flame bright eyes framed by a fringe of loose hair, and she tipped her head to him in acknowledgment before leaning against the shoji screen that separated the balcony and room to wait them out.

What? She wasn't _rude._

There was the sound of soft words, and she sensed their signatures twining together easily, the Mist alight with swirling and confusing currents that rippled aggressively, soothed by the steady downpour of Rain that whispered with manipulation and cunning, the two fitting together comfortably.

( _Why were they letting each other so close? There was no profit in unified defeat.)_

An amused huff, and she sensed the Mist leave the room with silent movements, door closing with a quiet thump- she walked into the room, studying the content lilt to Kinoko's shoulders, and silently filed the information away.

"You're here to know if you got the scholarship?"

Kinoko asked as she slipped an engraved, delicate silver ring over a finger, leaning over her desk to access the drawers on the other side. She hummed in agreement, keeping her distance from the Rain- the office had the lingering traces of Cloud Flame, as much of the compound did, a reason why she had been trying to find more secluded spots- it was fainter there.

It wasn't that the Cloud here was stronger than her, far from it- Already, she could tell that her internal machinations of Murasaki was leaving overpowering scatterings of her Signature wherever she went, but she didn't need to get into a territorial pissing match when she had no interest in said territory.

"Ah, here they are- You passed with a 110%, congratulations- You've officially gained a scholarship into the academy. However, you won't be able to leave the compound for at-least a week more, since you haven't completely recovered from your Flame Exhaustion."

She frowned at that, and flexed Murasaki experimentally- while still slightly harder to get a grasp on, the Flames seemed to have returned to what seemed to be full capacity- that being said, she felt mildly out of breath trying to move them too much when she used to be capable of circulating Murasaki for days on end without pause.

…She hated re-habilitation.

Sighing through her nose, she took the manila folder, raising an eyebrow at the information sheet that had been pasted onto the front.

"Just go through everything and make sure their information is correct, as well as fill out the sheet, won't you?"

She flatly dropped into a lotus position on the floor, ignoring Kinoko's mutterings about 'perfectly good chairs' as she caught the pen that had been thrown at her, squinting slightly at the questions, before shrugging and beginning to fill them out.

 ** _Name?_**

 _Rydia Hibari_

 ** _Date of Birth?_**

 _On the night, this question sheet was put together, when the mafia was overcome by collective stupidity that suggested unknowns were going to compile their information together for your convenience._

 ** _Blood Type?_**

 _Really? Sparkles with a side of rainbows and unicorn shit. Don't forget the fairy bread. That stuff's lit. We all know Cloud Flames can replenish blood, these medical and safety questions meant for civilian schools are degrading my view on your collective intelligence._

 ** _Crippling / Genetic disabilities?_**

 _The inability to cope with the realization you expect me to answer this paper honestly, and without being as spiteful as I can._

 ** _Estimated Educational Level?_**

 _I passed your entrance exam with 110% and a scholarship. In half an hour. I dearly hope that doesn't need further elaboration._

 ** _Estimated Level of Physical Prowess and Combat Training?_**

 _My old man used to sit me on his knee when I was about yay high, when the days were young and the sakura were soft, and tell me of the countless Triad and Yakuza groups crushed under the Hibari heel as we ripped apart cities in our rage and choked thousands in their own life blood that ran the skies red with their fear. Good days, those._

 _I believe myself to be at least adequate?_

 ** _Flame Type?_**

 _…_ _. Is this just a question to confirm things, or do you genuinely not know? If it's the latter, I'm not sure who I pity more, the poor fool who didn't do his homework, or the other students when they realize._

 ** _Flame Strength?_**

 _*Consult last two answers*_

 ** _Alleged Families or Clans?_**

 _And I quote, "Defeat to those who defy us, for we are unrestrainable and free, as predators are. In short? My son already started taking over China's underworld, what my wife and daughter did aren't to be spoken of, and I expect you to make anyone else bow. But, if anyone asks, just tell them the first bit. And don't mention Japan."_

 ** _Additional Information-_**

 _If I hear another Flight Risk pun I'm going to tear your walls down._

She handed the folder back to Kinoko after she had made sure she didn't answer any of the more civilian orientated questions, as well as gone through the rest of the file to make sure nothing extra was given away- ignoring how the Rains eye was twitching as she read her answers, she asked carelessly-

"Do they know what my Flame Type is?"

"…It never came up."

She grinned ferally, and she returned it in the way only a fellow Slytherin could, both, in that instant, feeling undeniable pleasure in the fact they had screwed an entire academy over sideways.

"On that note, will there be any difficulties considering I'm entering during what is traditionally the ending phase of school years?"

"Ah, right- the academy is a bit strange in that aspect, since there isn't really an end or a beginning to the school years, considering how most of the time students have to be pulled from school for Famiglia oriented matters. To keep education even, classes take place all year round, with a few summer and winter months having shorter lessons and longer free time breaks. Nearly none of the classes are compulsory- if you score high enough in the end of year assessments, you won't be forced to attend the classes while able."

"You mentioned end of year assessments? Also, why have a mafia academy if the students aren't required to attend classes?"

"The assessments have both written and physical portions to ascertain each student standing, with special tests aimed at those who intend to become free-lance- the purpose of that is so that the estimated capabilities can be sent to interested employers; most of the time the cheaper or less important jobs will be sent to the academy by people who can't afford professional hitmen. As for the mandatory classes, its more along the lines of not wanting to hold back the more intelligent students- for example, would a student with university level intelligence get more out of sitting in a middle school level class or skipping and training on their own?"

She hummed in understanding, before asking curiously-

"How hard is it to get a scholar-ship into the academy anyways?"

"…approximately a 0.005% chance of success. It is, after all, not only the most prestigious school, but also rather exclusive- An example would be how Skies get an instant Scholarship whether they apply for it, and how the academy accepts entrees that don't have to take the entrance exam if they have good connections."

"Glad to know you didn't set the bar too high,"

She says dryly, standing and rolling the cramps out of her shoulders, gained for sitting without back support- she walks back to the balcony to the sound of Kinoko's soft snickers, pausing just before vaulting over.

"Congratulations,"

She says, and there's a surprised pause, before she's gone.

"…Thanks, you observant little shit."

Kinoko sighed to the empty room, smiling in a way that she seemed unable to stop.

…

She hummed tunelessly under her breath as she examined the way her things had been arranged neatly on the short-legged table that was part of the seating area in her given room, frowning at the shortage of miniature staffs- while still a substantial amount, she would have to keep some aside so she could get them commissioned later.

Next to where they had been arranged neatly like small log piles, was her gun and holster, with only 3 bullets laid neatly next to it- her practice notebooks were where she had left them, fanned out messily with a few open to reference the stories, while the wallet the old man had left her had a credit card put on top of it.

She raised an eyebrow at the last, picking it up to read the name embossed on it- thankfully, it was fake, one 'Chiara Andros', the name a subtle hint that she supposed meant it was linked to a Switzerland account; in which her asked for sponsorship would most likely be transferred to.

Picking up the plain leather wallet, she flipped it open to slide the card in, noting other fake credentials that had probably been set up by the old man, and that she had to convert the yen even if it wouldn't amount to much.

She sighed quietly through her nose, loading the gun and flicking the safety on before putting it into its holster, belatedly noticing the small cloth, almost ruffle like, extension sown onto the holster.

…

That…. made more sense.

Scowling internally, she slotted the remaining staffs into the added holsters, ending up with rows of small wooden staffs that made it look like she did DIYS for fun.

Joy.

Piling up her notebooks and dropping the equipped holster on top, she flopped face first into her provided bed; having rid it of its covers beforehand.

One week.

…

Red pulled the grass out of the ground, idly braiding the stalks as the Cloud beside him filled the bitter air with her voice.

Once again, she was dressed more for summer than winter, as opposed to the way he had bundled up- but he thought he could see barely visible curls of steam rising from her skin; the shade of brown sugar vibrant against the snow dusted garden; so maybe she really couldn't feel the cold.

Even as he processed the story she was reciting to him, as per their deal, he noted with a faint trace of bemusement that there was an almost British accent that lilted her words, underlining the nearly mechanically toneless way she spoke, despite her having said she was born and raised in Japan.

Maybe something she picked up from those she was raised with?

Even so, it created a startling contrast with her more Asian looks, her flat way of speaking making her sound more like a computer program than a human.

"Cloud rampage? Don't those need triggers, Sai?"

She frowned faintly at being interrupted, the nuance barely one of note on her permanently bored expression, but continued without addressing his question, making his eye twitch.

"What, do I need to be a level 10 confidant first, or something, Sai?"

He muttered under his breath, and nuzzled further into his scarf, eyes firm as he absent-mindedly broke down and memorized her story with the type of focused intensity commonly found in Classic Storms; though his exterior seemed more focused on braiding the grass than her story.

He was half expecting her to get annoyed at his apparent lack of attention, like so many had before her- _("He doesn't even care! Just leave him!")_ – but she never turns her gaze to him, staring at the sky with lazy eyes that seemed intent on burning every contour and curve of the heavens into her mind, smoothly transferring into a lecture on the basics of Storm Flame manipulation once she finished her story.

"Wait, aren't you going to wait until I've finished my end of the deal first, Sai?"

"The deal benefits you too much for you to break it before you get to the good stuff,"

She dismisses, and returns to the lecture as he stared at her disbelievingly. Giving up on trying to understand the older girl's thoughts, he began carefully plucking the wild flowers and twining them into the braided crown of dead grass, listening intently to her while she laid her knowledge bare- as he began slowly creating a color palette of blue, brown, pink, and yellow, he relaxed hesitantly.

After all, if she wanted to shank him, she would've done so already.

They were seated in the forgotten garden where he had first stumbled across her, and though it was only her second visit, it almost felt like her Signature was seeping into the earth itself, saturating it with her essence- he couldn't quite sense more than a tingling across his senses, but the thought remained in the back of his head, of bared fangs and protective claws.

Frowning, he shook his head to clear it, before turning firmly into the lecture, beginning his attempts at controlling his Storm Flames.

A few hours later, when they had petered out into thoughtful silence and hesitant curls of Storm Flames began to explore their pathways, he held up the elaborate flower crown to examine it in the bleeding of dusks blood across the skies, taking note of how colorful it had become; sprigs of flowers and wild ferns making a carefully chaotic pattern.

He paused, before shrugging and flicking a glance at his pseudo mentor; the Cloud having fallen asleep between one breath and the next. He unceremoniously dropped the crown onto her head; it falls lopsided to poke her in the eye, and she cracked an eyelid open to give him a _look._

He met it childishly, sticking out his tongue. She snorted, reaching up to position it properly before shutting her eyes again.

"Do it right,"

She mumbled sleepily, turning over onto her flank, and he stared at her.

…and she called herself a monster.

Scoffing, he dropped onto his back, and found that the grass was much more comfortable than moldy cardboard and dirtied pavement.

…

"You've already started learning how to use your Storm Flames?"

A man asked Red, watching him curiously- the boy blinked, before nodding firmly, unknowingly flaring his Signature to seem bigger to the man he had subconsciously registered as a threat.

The man frowned, pale grey eyes bordering on lavender focusing on the Storm, corners of his mouth twitching down in displeasure- his ire didn't seem to be directed at him though.

"You've been taking instruction from the other Cloud."

He stated flatly, and Red, the boy with traces of unfamiliar but viciously strong Cloud Flames clinging to him, tilted his head in faint defiance. He rolled his eyes, waving it away dismissively, even if all his instincts had kicked into overdrive- _(Unfamiliar threat-stronger than- My TeRrItOrY-)_ and began the boys combat instruction.

Just 5 more days.

…

"How many languages do you know?"

"…Just Italian, Sai."

"I'm teaching you English."

"Do I not get a say in this, Sai?!"

…

"Storms are often the most reliable and obsessive person of their group, may it be over their family's health, an interest, or even their own goals, they tend to fixate on something or someone. they can be aggressive towards any threats, and remain on hair trigger whenever not somewhere they feel safe-Storms are also shown to be highly destructive, whether it's done in a blind rage or a clam one is up to their personality.

Going by that, I think the best way to get your Flames to cooperate would be to push them slowly- not forceful enough to be perceived as a threat though. If you start feeling like you're overheating, release the pressure at once."

She watched the clouds as he made a noise of consent and began slowly nudging at his Flames, her using Murasaki to track his progress- as she did so, she quietly marked the slowly appearing Flame Pathways that had come into being on her radar as they swirled with weak Storm Flames.

It looked like the pathways were laid over the veins, arteries, and capillaries that coursed his body, trickling easily- the trouble seemed to be in getting them to ignite and grow.

She assumed the hollow of bright red she could see placed in the center of his chest may be his Reserves, and wondered how hers looked, how it had expanded- the glow was easy to see, nestled comfortably in his sternum as it was, a small alcove. She couldn't see the Flames of Adults as clearly, often couldn't at all.

But she always found the Flames in the end, still foreign to her as they were- it was like breathing in clean air all your life, hearing only silence, before suddenly being exposed to millions of smells and noises, some stronger, some weaker, and some so close she could see them beside her when she closed her eyes to the sight of Murasaki.

It made it hard for her to ground herself to this world, regardless of all the blood and sweat that made her heart pulse steadily in her ears, the beat of a war drum- but listen to the melody of her own Intent all she wanted, she couldn't quite convince herself that this was real.

And so, she just didn't care. Survive, just for the sake of doing so- the only reason Murasaki pumped, despite her lack of supposed 'Will' was because she had _Intent._

Killing Intent was not the hazed Blood Lust that hounded many Flame Users, wasn't the reality of brushed life blood and elegantly harsh movements- it was the _idea,_ the _knowledge,_ of what you could do. What you would do. It wasn't the clear-cut knowledge that you _will end._

It was Doubt.

It was the _I could live, she could make it that I won't. But I can,_ and what was scarier than knowing that you still had a choice?

That you could choose to die here, or you could go home again.

To submit, or to die, the rabbit asked, and Alice smiled and grinned, and the cat said _Doubting is knowing you're still alive- when you start looking at a dead end, when you stop searching for a way out, is when you truly die._

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

She sighed, and opened her eyes again, unsure of when she had closed them- she stared unblinkingly at the ashy dusk sky, and realized, as she felt the warmth at her side from where Red had fallen asleep; curled into her for Murasaki's heat, the cold and fatigue having driven him past his wary-ness of her; that she was already dead.

Had been, since she stopped feeling more than the bitter amusement of a weary soul, the leaden fatigue, sloth, that made her want to sleep the days away.

What had made her awaken her so called resolve in the first place? The rage at being reincarnated? The rage at having her lobster be crushed so thoroughly?

…She didn't feel angry. She never did, not truly. She just felt _scared._ Scared she was helpless, scared she would lose was hers, even when she had _tried so hard,_ so scared that she just wanted to sleep and hide herself away, because what use was a warrior scared of being hurt?

 _(Rushing Violet that swirls in its own directions, uncaring of where they led, only that it was of their own Will- The lavender of Fury bright eyes and Fear, the adrenaline that raises Violet on fiery currents and lashes out in protection and Donthurtthemiwontletyou, lazily soft wine that sighs with creativity and loyalty, that curls contently in its own warmth and blows ideas and intent to the wind to carry on. Tired Warrior that seeks something worth fighting for.)_

Her breath shuddered out of her chest unsteadily, and she tilted onto her side, curling around Red and finally giving up on being distant to the Storm- it was the least she could do. He was the reason she didn't have to think about evergreen.

Her lips curved in an emotion she couldn't place, and she sighed.

A Cloud driven by fear instead of Rage. She wondered if it was as rare as it seemed.

* * *

 **(A/N). -FOR THOSE WHO DON'T WANNA READ THE NOTE, CHECK THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PLEASE. -**

 **Late chapter- I've been stuck on a bad writer's block for Godric knows how long, and I'm leaving my computer this week, for a week or more, and won't get any content out during the time-frame. I managed to scrape together this chapter, thanks to A LOT of help from a fellow story junkie, and so I wanted to post this before my soul leaves my body.**

 **Before we get to the Review replies, know that I uploaded a poll on my profile for the pairing Rydia will be facing in TimeLess- I wanted to start it now so that any romance in the future won't be rushed and hastily patched together. I'm going for the slow, realistic, friendship and I'm going to KICK YOU OUT OF A WINDOW type. Think the song 'True Love' by Pink.**

 **To;** GuestEtha, Madam3Mayh3m, Lady Syndra, WhiteDogwood-

Dino and Squalo did, in fact, go to a certain Academy- for this story, so will a lot of other canon side fish. Be warned. I'll try and get the next chapter going when I'm able!

 **To; KoraColonelloKora** , Anerali, Guest-

Oh, she'll be DEFINITELY meeting Kyoya and her old man again. And the rest of the Hibaris'. Everything. I noticed that Guest said something about her getting over killing people? I may not have conveyed it properly, but her only regret is letting Okuri die- everyone else? She'd probably feed them to the ducks.

 **To;** ren7720

This review made my day, XDD

I'm afraid both Mukuro and Byakuran are out of her age range, but Xanxus is fair game- feel free to vote at the poll~


	7. No-ones going to pick you up, Part 4

Rydia raised a hand to the sunlight, and for a moment she sees the chocolate, unscarred skin of a civilian stretched over the long and nimble fingers of someone used to handling pens and inks, the colors staining over where graphite smeared and dust motes swirled in the light that bathed it. A hand crushed into its own wrist as fingers snapped under-weight and skin spilt open around knuckle bones that charred in the following explosion of gas, flaying into a mangled mess of flesh red.

She blinks, and the vision disappears, replaced by a smaller one of brown sugar tone and silver scars that laced over the appendage a bit past her wrist- her palms and fingers are calloused, thumb leaning in slightly from when she had hurriedly relocated it.

unlike the curved and unblemished nails, she was so used to seeing, the nails are now clipped short and a few are chipped, with small dents and pits in them from where staffs had exploded in her grip; the reason for many of her scars. There's a slash against the top of her other hand from where she had once failed to dodge a knife from her old man- the scar is faintly raised, but old and shallow enough that instead of scar tissue there is only the faintly lighter tone that marks it.

"What are you staring at, Sai?"

Red questioned obnoxiously, purposefully shoving his face directly in her line of sight- her eye twitched faintly at the utter lack of respect, but there's something challenging in his gaze, so she scoffs and uses the raised hand to flick him sharply on the nose.

Ignoring his squawk of protest, and the aggitation of his Flames as yet another probe at her personality failed, she sat up and squinted at him through almond eyes- she was perhaps too used to people being unnerved when she studied them, but even so, his scoff seemed a tad too careless.

"Don't narrow your eyes like that, the shapes already narrowed. Your half-lidded thing works better, Sai."

"…why are you so annoying."

She deadpanned as he dropped to sit down next to her, the kid impatiently (excitedly) running over her reply as he shoved his hand at her, brilliant scarlet burning merrily- for a moment, she thinks he's bleeding, but is stunned by the piece of wood disintegrating under the admittedly small and weak Flame.

She grabbed his hand, examining the match stick as it crumbled to the disintegration factor, and doesn't look away as she asks, voice uncharacteristically severe.

"How did you bring them to surface?"

He huffs, sticking his other hand in his pocket, but hesitantly allows her to keep her hold on him, save for a slight twist to get her to release the unintended pressure.

"Did that a long time ago, Sai, just couldn't control them well enough, Sai, to get them to come out, Sai."

He said briskly, and she releases him when she perceived he had become uncomfortable enough at the suddenly intrusive question that his verbal tick had shown up in the middle of his sentences rather than at the end.

Resisting the urge to scowl (It wasn't a pout, no matter what her old man said) she sighed when she realized she wouldn't be getting the story out of him.

…She liked stories.

"I need more books."

She realizes aloud, and Red blinks, caught off kilter by the sudden overhaul in topic as he absently tipped the ashes from his hands.

"What are you talking about, Sai?"

He prods after a moment of hesitation, surprised she wouldn't push.

"Fiction. I need stories again…"

She trails off mournfully, and his eyebrow rose steadily in a type of morbid fascination as he eyed her, unused to the sudden range in emotions- so far, he was lucky to witness anything other than lazy smirks and just something lazy in general.

"You like reading?"

He asked casually, studying the grass speculatively, and wasn't expecting it when her gaze snapped to him sharply enough that he froze in the midst of reaching out for a strand.

" _Like_ it?"

She demanded, and Red was starting to think her entire existence was a conspiracy to overthrow any attempts on trying to make sense of her.

"It's the best thing since- "

She faltered, apparently unable to think of a suitable enough analogy, and when she was silent for a few minutes, he very slowly reached out and plucked the grass stalk, still tensed as he waited for the next outburst.

When none came, he allowed himself to relax slightly, beginning the braid for yet another flower crown- that being said, he very nearly threw the thing down in frustration when she suddenly spoke, startling him bad enough that he disintegrated the wild flower in his fingers, still unused to his Flames.

"I'm a sad excuse for a writer and I kind of want to either break something or cry."

She says calmly, and he wonders how she still manages to sound menacing, before he realizes she's leaking Killing Intent in weak wisps.

"Why are you like this, Sai…"

He deadpans, and she shrugs helplessly, feeling Murasaki bubbling in a way that seems almost giddy.

"I think they put me on stronger pain-killers after I tore my bullet wounds and caused them to widen while training."

"Didn't they tell you specifically _not_ to train, Sai?"

"That's why they put me on stronger drugs."

"I don't know what to do with you, Sai,"

He groans, forgetting himself momentarily as he knocks a fist into her shoulder- he stills, but she doesn't seem to notice or care, rolling her eyes and lazily using a curl of Cloud Flames to multiply the amount of flower sprigs beside her.

He turns away stiffly, unsettled at how familiar he had gotten without noticing, and returns to his flower crown.

They end up with him teaching the surprisingly artistic Cloud how to make the crowns anyways.

…

She hated shopping.

Which was a shame, since it was exactly what she was doing- there was barely a day until she was admitted to the academy, and so Kinoko had suggested she get herself a wardrobe in a suit case while she got the school uniform sent over.

Apparently yet another 'Mafiosi are paranoid bastards' thing, a couple of uniforms were normally sent to the students so that they could make sure nothing had been tampered with, as well as so they could get the sizing retailored if it didn't mesh well with their fighting style.

She hadn't seen how the uniforms looked yet, so she focused mainly on putting together a couple of outfits she could fight easily in, not yet buying too many pairings since she would need to adjust to the location and conditions of the academy once she knew where it was.

Apart from learning that the Academy wasn't managed by any one family because of security reasons, and that it was headed by a representative of any Famiglia's interested (read: any Family influential enough to matter), she hadn't managed to get much else out of Red's limited network.

Instead, she had turned to 'asking' the Difo Famiglia members about it.

Each Famiglia represented on the school board apparently had to make constant monetary investments, but that also meant that strange traditions and 'sink or swim' training tactics had bled over from the older Famiglia's invested in it; such as Vongola.

She hadn't been happy to learn that one of the main tri-ni-sette groups was part of the board, but hell, what could she do?

She uninterestedly tuned out the store employee recommending colors to her, instead focusing on putting together a more monochrome selection, with the odd splash of pastel purple and blue accents.

She had somehow managed to discover a store that sold high collared and sleeveless; to V-necked and full sleeved; tops in her size- flexible black leggings and bicycle shorts hadn't been hard to find, with a dark grey pair of skinny jeans thrown in for some variation.

Old habits die hard, and while she did pay attention to her clothing, she watched her budget closely, unwilling to spend so much frivolously when Chiara's bank account would be financing her for the noted future, considering she was certain a part time job would make her routine too easy to map out if she got one.

…Maybe she was a bit too paranoid.

Sighing, she dropped the few simply designed tops she could find into the basket, the most intricate one being a black mandarin collar with light grey floral designs creeping up the back.

She already stood out too much, she didn't need to add bright clothing to the list.

Going over the stuff she had brought to double check none of the materials was clingy or loose enough to get in the way of her sharp techniques by decreasing how streamlined she could make her form, she belatedly realized the employee was still talking.

Slinking away from the woman and drifting over to a family to make it look like she was part of the group so no-one would question what an 11-year-old was doing alone in the middle of the shopping district, she idly joined the line behind them as she made sure she hadn't missed anything.

She had bought her training clothes from a sports store a while back, as well as her shoes- she already had her steel toed worker boots for combat and normal wear, so didn't have to buy anything else in that department considering she trained barefoot.

The pair of bicycle shorts and black tank top was her underwhelming training gear, and she would have had been glad to have finished after she got her casual and sleeping wear (full-sleeved v necks and leggings) cleared, but for some reason, she found herself buying an XXL maroon scarf patterned with the ever so legendary 'ugly sweater design'.

Predictably, Red was so swamped by the thing he had to tuck the ends of the scarf in his sweater so it didn't drag in the mud.

Unpredictably, he was absolutely elated to have it. She found herself faintly caught off guard.

…

"Wow, they really are a bunch of prestigiously entitled old men."

"You have no idea,"

Kinoko replied dryly as she observed the Cloud poking at the Academy's uniform like it may bite her, though to be fair, with how stuffy it looked, it would probably whack her with one of those fancy walking canes instead.

Though the white formal blouse was to be expected, the royal red hemming on both the black waist coat and pleated skater skirt was a bit much.

The skirt had been cut higher than mid-thigh to account for how most female students took advantage of the inherent flexibility in their fighting styles, and anything longer would either tangle their legs or make it hard for them to move-either could end in disaster when you were trying to kill someone.

There were no shoes prescribed except for the fact they had to be black, which was oddly considerate- she would have appreciated it too, if she wasn't stuck on the bloody waist coat.

Did people still wear those?

Godric, she hoped not.

"There's a tie too,"

Kinoko pointed out helpfully, and she flicked her glance at the slim red strip of fabric- it wasn't patterned, so she was fine with wearing it. She rather liked ties.

But the _waistcoat._

"Do I actually have to wear that?"

She asked blandly, making a vague gesture at the offending piece of clothing- though the material looked flexible enough not to hinder breathing (as was the shirt), she couldn't seriously imagine rebellious mafia teenagers wearing those things.

"Fortunately for you, no- it is mandatory for the males however, though I'd be surprised if any were caught dead actually wearing those. On that note, the Academy is on private land somewhere in Italy- since we don't have a representative on the school board, I don't know where it is. As such, they've arranged for transport. I don't think I'd need to tell you to stay on guard, as it is."

She quietly let out a sigh of relief at the first bit of information, and picked up the packets of clothing, nodding a farewell to Kinoko as she made her way to her room- the suitcase was already packed neatly, and she wasn't surprised to see Red sitting on her bed and playing with her holster.

She let him.

There was a comfortable silence, one cultivated from a week of tutoring and fooling around in the garden while she recovered from her wounds, before he speaks, sounding weirdly at ease.

"I could probably find a way to get you information if anything crops up. You'd need a way to keep me in the loop as well, though, Sai."

She's surprised that he assumed she'd keep in touch past their seedling of a kinship, but it causes something warm to unfurl in her chest anyways.

"Make a copy of my practice books,"

She says instead, and he sends her a strange look only to be greeted by a crooked smirk.

"I'm certain this method has a name and origin, but all I remember is the method itself- I'll give you an example of how we could communicate when you're done, since there should a way for outsiders to contact students enrolled in the academy. We could just deliver messages normally, but I rather like keeping information to myself, and having people listen in isn't much fun~"

He rolls his eyes at her, but picks up the bloodied stack of books anyways- she zips up the small and light suitcase, and jumps out the window after him as they scale their way to the garden saturated with traces of her Flames.

Once again, she ends up falling asleep as he writes, but despite the scarf she gave him doing well to conserve his warmth, he curls up into her side anyways.

She doesn't say anything when she wakes, simply using a crooked index finger to poke him in the cheek to get him to go back to the rooms set up for him. Kinoko would have her head if the boy got sick, after all.

…

A fairy flipping limo.

She was going to die of embarrassment, and her old man was going to dance all over her grave laughing hysterically.

Red made an odd noise caught between a snicker and a wheeze as she stared blankly at the unnecessarily extravagant thing, and silently vowed not to be so flippant with places she enrolled in the future.

The driver of the… _thing_ walked over to open the door for her, smiling happily though his eyes were screaming- she hoped so, anyways, because it was that or he was happy to be driving it, and she didn't want to consider the idea of being in a small space with a lunatic ( _she's one to talk)_ for an unforeseen amount of time.

"Oh god, may you rest in peace, Sai,"

Red managed to wheeze at her from where he had bent over in his giggles- Kinoko had excused herself a while ago, and the smaller Difo mafioso had been the one to see her off.

In response, she flipped him off and climbed into the vehicle with as much dignity as she could manage- it wasn't doing anything for her confidence that she was dressed like a stuck up little rich girl.

Read: She was wearing her uniform because apparently, she really had enrolled during an inconvenient part of the year, so they were dropping her straight into class before asking someone to show her around at the end of the school day.

A moment, and she glared at Red's shit eating grin as she was driven away, the kid apparently unable to stop laughing- the only thing that helped her scrape together her pride was the fact she managed to make herself look like a delinquent, what with the leggings, unbuttoned collar, and loosened tie. Don't forget the gun holster.

She calmly climbed over the sleek couches and sat neatly in front of the glass division, using a fist to crack the bullet proof glass before holding the nozzle of the gun to the back of the driver's headrest through it, a dark little smirk on her face as she made sure he could see her through his mirror.

He gave her a polite smile and a nod, knowing that with how she damaged it, the bullet would go straight through his head if she started getting antsy.

He put the car into gear, and they pulled out of the complex.

…

Red wasn't sure why he had ended up in the garden again, or why he kept expecting there to be another warm body sitting next to him, but he brushed it off as he began to braid another crown, trying a new method that kept falling apart in his hands even as his mind wandered to the Guardians of the Difo Famiglia, the most curious being the private Mist.

As far as the rumors went, only the Boss and Kinoko actually knew his name- others just called him the Blue Fox, perhaps a street name of sorts.

He had already looked into it, and found it curious that even the normally overlooked street rats couldn't get much information on him, though he supposed that had more to do with how the Difo Famiglia mainly dealt in Asia, a reason they didn't have a place on the Academy's board despite them being large enough to get access to Mafia Land.

Plucking a selection of pinks, yellows and blues, he spun the wild flowers with nimble fingers, their speed surprising for someone so young.

( _"Come on, it's easy- making crowns makes your fingers faster, so it's easier to pick pocket people! We can try to sell them to tourists as well, though the cops would try to chase us off, Sai…")_

He frowns up at the sky as it begins to snow daintily, and snuggled further into the scarf wrapped around his neck, wondering idly if Kinoko, the one in charge of internal affairs, would protest to him going back out on the streets to see how much further he could extend his network. Probably not, he was a Difo mafioso after all, and his information could come in handy.

He was going to need a hell lot of bribe in food though.

He shrugs, and stands, leaving the crown on the ground as he ambled back towards the main house- he might as well get started.

…

He tapped a pen between his fingers, allowing the drone of the classroom to wash over him even as the girl sitting beside him filled the air with the scratching of her pen- for a moment, he thought she was taking notes, before flicking his gaze to her paper and glimpsing an absolutely horrific spider design.

Stifling a surprised squeak, he robotically looked away, going stock still and hoping she wouldn't notice his impression of playing dead- by the Mist's dark giggle, and the spider that abruptly appeared in his lap, _she definitely freaking noticed._

He whimpered as it clambered up his arm, opening its mouth to drip venom onto his wrist, the liquid cool and the scampering of its hairy legs delicate- it _hissed,_ actually _hissed,_ and he died a little inside when its spinnerets quivered, the unique designs on it gleaming wine red even as the venom took on the consistency of blood.

He almost fell off his chair in relief when the classroom door was pushed open, distracting the Mist, and a girl stepped through with a lazy prowl- their teacher, a young Lightning with severe features, flicked narrowed eyes at the student, and shot a needle at her, testing.

Without pausing as she closed the door behind her, she calmly caught the needle between her thumb and forefinger, using her other hand to give a sarcastic wave of greeting- Her skin was the color of brown sugar, paired with thick black hair that fell in a straight, asymmetrical bob, framing a sharp jawline and almond cognac eyes that looked more like ice chips- The features drew attention to the scarlet tones that spread out from her pupil.

"Yo. This is room F36?"

She drawled lazily, even as she took in the wooden paneling on the walls of the class, the arched bullet-proof windows that looked out over the rest of the mansion's compound, and the clearly expensive chairs and tables. Her eye twitched, and he got the sudden impression that they were all being judged.

Instead of answering, the teacher they called 'Jade' for lack of a given name, gestured at the time table the girl was holding in the hand she had waved with.

"Where are the rest of your supplies?"

"At the dorms, if the guy I was about to shoot in the head is to be believed."

The fact he's the only one to stare at her in burgeoning horror really says something about the company in this Classroom, most of who were more focused on the weapon she kept in plain sight- the gun strapped to her thigh, the holster of which for some reason had tiny pieces of wood.

"Ah, you're the scholarship kid…what was your name again?"

A clear tactic used to undermine the pride most of the students carried into the class- the girl gave her a blank look though, tilting her head faintly.

"What sad excuse of a mafioso can't even remember a name?"

"My first impression of you? Well, I hate you already."

"…Was that a Naruto reference?"

"Go sit down, kid."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, maybe a challenge to the teacher's authority (She looked scary enough to do it)- she just huffed in faint amusement however, not seeming to have meant her previous statement as a provocation, and runs an ice-cold gaze over the area, looking for an empty seat.

After a moment, she surprisingly takes the empty one in the middle of the classroom instead of the one backed against a wall, ending up directly to his left.

The boy sitting behind her immediately takes advantage of her positioning, throwing his pen like a dart at the back of her head, no doubt in order to get a feel for her power level- that being said, she simply leans backwards like a bridge, tilting her chair onto its hind legs and letting the pen fly overhead.

Her hand closes easily around the arm he had used to throw the dart, and flips him sharply over her head, bracing her other forearm against his as he's pulled out of his seat to make sure he doesn't land on her.

Her knee slams upwards as she releases his arm, hitting him hard at the base of his spine even as the momentum she shouldn't have been able to gather throws him clear towards the front of the class.

Jade calmly steps out of the way as the male falls in a twitching heap; the girl's unnatural strength immediately getting a blaring red neon sign on everyone's radar as she rocks her chair back to a normal state of balance, meeting the teacher's coffee brown eyes with a half-lidded gaze, all the previous humor gone like it never was.

The woman studies her a moment, before smirking and turning back to her lesson, not bothering with the body in front of her as she continues the History session from where it had been interrupted in the middle.

 _"_ _Flames were discovered more than 3 decades ago, when it was previously thought that only the old Famiglia's such as the Vongola's Bosses could bring forth the Fire. Mafia Scientists think there may be a connection to the rings, but for now have focused more on dissecting the Flames as they are- Can anyone name the Seven types, in order of their rarity?"_

 _…_

The moment class ended, he practically threw himself from his seat, shaking off the spider as he went, and tried his best not to catch the attention of the new student- he wouldn't have either, if he wasn't the clumsiest person this side of the planet.

A squeak tore itself from his throat as his foot caught on the leg of the chair, and he began his inevitable downward tilt- his hand scrambled at the desk edge, only to bring it down on top of him as he fell in a tangled heap, feeling his chin spike in pain from where it had greeted the floor with all the gusto of a well-acquainted friend.

"…You must have a really high pain tolerance."

She drawls, watching him unreadably as the other students simply walked around him, far too used to his antics.

He blinked away tears in response, and flinched when the toe of her shoe came into his field of vision- instead of kicking him in the face though, she casually levered the pure wood desk off him with little to no trouble, and he could practically _hear_ her eyebrow raise as she studied the way he was tangled with his chair.

He didn't trust himself not to make things worse, so he was glad when she simply grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him out of the scene of disaster, even if it both made his shoulder feel like one huge bruise, and his face like it was on fire with embarrassment.

He couldn't look her in the face as he stuttered a thanks, but she was already walking past him, and he realized with a sense of deflation that she had only helped him because he had fallen in her way, and not because she was trying to be nice.

His face burned hotter with shame as someone laughed at him, and he carefully righted the chair and table, before stumbling out of the class room, trying his best not to knock anyone over and down the stairs again.

…

The Academy was quite literally a mansion. She had been driven through a thick Italian forest, the trees slim and towering, with only the road that lead to the Academy being properly traversable- further in, a Mist had picked up, and upon inquiry, she had been told that it was a smoke screen to deter trespassers, hit(wo)men, and the occasional undercover police.

Apart from the rooms in the mansion being titled according to floor level and number, the East and West wings were the female and male dormitories respectively, with the North wing dedicated to training and the South to academics-from what she understood, there was also a dining area in the North wing due to students nominally spending most of their time there, and the female dormitories shared space with a rather large ballroom.

Likewise, the male dorms were host to the grand libraries, something she found rather aggravating as it meant she would have to walk across the entire compound to get a book-Then again, if the Academy was as old as it was lorded to be, it would make sense that the information be more readily available to males while the females were taught more feminine skills-Also known as, how to be a pretty mafia wife, and if you're important enough, we'll even show you how to kill people with your lipstick!

Didn't mean she had to like it.

She debated between exploring or checking out more of the classes, before deciding she needed to catalogue any particularly strong students, and resigning herself to a Flame Theory lesson and whatever came after it.

She had indeed been enrolled during what was the winter break for normal schools, a reason why there were both less lessons being held, as well as a smaller number of students, each class having at-least 20 empty seats each.

Most were probably taking advantage of classes not being mandatory, something she would likely end up doing as well once she checked out which classes were worth attending-so far, History and maybe Flame Theory were on the list.

The corridors were as expensive as the classrooms were, with tastefully decorated wooden paneled walls and delicate flower vases set on carved tables, with a royal red carpet down each stretch; The only thing that marking the place as somewhere being used for education being the bulletin boards with notices on them, as well as plaques on heavy doors labelling classes.

There were the rare refreshment stands in place of water coolers, most of which she was 90% sure had been used at least once to prank the student body, judging by the notice banning the use of laxatives in public food sources.

She stopped walking as the familiar sense of Mist Flames folded around her, and a sweep of her gaze confirmed that it was intended to be a subtle cloak, as nothing was out of place save the reversal of the corridor she had been about to take a turn to-Unwilling to play along and have it purposely misinterpreted as a weakness of hers, she instead tracked the sense of ( _Playful wisps that latch onto weakened bodies, dragging them underunderUnDeR-)_ to a condensed source a few feet behind her.

Turning impassively, she focused her gaze on where she could sense it, though there was nothing there- evidently it made the Mist falter, presuming she could see them, and it was enough for her to shatter the illusion, and to be greeted by the sight of a girl around her age staring at her uncomfortably through a dull eye that could pass for black.

"Why are there so many Mists?"

She asked dryly, and the girl blinked at her; surprised at the rather civil tone considering she had just tried to get her lost; using a hand to push the long lock of black hair that hid one of her eyes from her face.

"You're in the art corridor."

She tells her quietly, clearly no longer playful now that the game was up, if the way her Flames had recoiled faintly were to be believed- the girl's shirt was untucked messily, her skinny tie hanging limply from a skirt pocket, and the scarlet shade of her thigh highs made her already pale skin nearly translucent- that, paired with her mary-janes, made her something you would _not_ want to see walking towards you in the dark.

Rydia flicked a glance at her schedule, not interested in intimidating the fragile looking girl when it was clear the Mist was probably either a glass canon or not combat intensive at all, instead asking her in a bored tone that probably made her even more confused; not an emotion she was used to being addressed with.

"Do you know where room F2 is?"

"Ah….um, it's a right from here, go straight, and it's the first door on your left…"

"Thanks,"

She responds absently, turning to leave in consideration of how the girl had gone from a gleeful prankster to a fish out of water, her arms folded defensively as she looked anywhere but at her eyes.

"…you could at-least tell me your name,"

The girl muttered under her breath, probably not expecting her to catch it, and so she calls over her shoulder as she walks, bemused.

"Rydia Hibari,"

"O-oh…Wait, shit, sorry, my name's Flavia,"

The girl replies after a stunned and embarrassed pause, tripping over her words- Rydia tilts a head to her in acknowledgement as she takes the right at the end of the corridor, leaving the newly named Flavia standing in the hallway like a really out of place ghost.

"…Why is it always the cute ones,"

The girl wailed quietly when the already soft footsteps faded into inaudibility, and dropped her face into her hands mournfully- she wasn't even surprised when she heard someone scream shortly at the sight of her, with her long black hair curtaining around her covered face as she stood in the shadows of a painting that depicted a woman being burned at the stake, her eyes lavender bright with Cloud Flames, mouth curled into a laugh even as her skin flayed away in the fires.

 _She really needed to start picking better targets._

Sighing, she gave the blonde gaping at her in terror an annoyed look, before allowing her lips to curl into a terrifying smile, feeling something nastily childish swirl itself into the giggle she released.

Predictably, the joke of the Academy fainted.

Now suitably cheered up, she drifted away, intent on finding someone else to prank, even as she rolled the name of the pretty girl with the off-setting aura around in her mind.

 _Rydia Hibari…here's to hoping you really are as strong as your aura presents._

…

So, apparently Flame Trackers were a thing.

Rydia studied the Sun of a teacher with sharp eyes, the surprisingly broody male ruffling his straw hair in frustration when he couldn't find the words to properly explain what the trackers could do- it didn't take him long to use the projector in the class and hook it up to what seemed to be a digital art tablet.

…Just how much blood money did the representatives on the School Board invest in this place?

"Okay, so Flame Trackers are Mafiosi that are in tune with their Flames- "

Here, he began sketching the seven types of Flames, more as something to keep his mind occupied while he spoke rather than to depict whatever he was trying to convey.

 _"_ _-Because of how well they…uh…. harmonize? no, that's Sky- oh, because of how well they can control their Flames, they can often tell when someone else is using Flames around them, and so its slightly easier for them to break out of illusions._

 _While most are born trackers, a study shows that you can train yourself to become one once you've mastered enough control over your Flames to sense outside of yourself. Often times however, when faced with a large Flame Source, it's harder for them to truly get a scope of how large it is- That being said, I've noticed a lot of students come up to me with questions about 'an Aura'._

 _The aura is a supernatural phenomenon that can only be seen by a rare few individuals, and is said to represent combat ability- In theory, it's said that Mists are more likely to see auras, due to the slightly paranormal take to their Flames. However, auras can also be picked up by those with keen perceptions…"_

 _…_

She sighs as she makes her way down the previously recognized art corridor, having made up her mind that she was both uninterested in attending the following classes on English, French, whatever language made it onto the weekly rotation, and waiting until the end of the school day to be shown around.

She wasn't even sure why they had gone about it in such an unorthodox way anyways, weren't tours normally given _before_ you were asked to attend classes?

Nevertheless, she snagged the map off the bulletin board and resigned herself to exploring for the next few hours.

Or she would have, if she hadn't been _bowelled over by a screaming silver bundle that sounded like it took vocabulary lessons on The Black Pearl._

…

…

…

Her level of tolerance seemed like it would do a lot more than snap before it got over 9000.

 _Ow._

* * *

 **(SO, that's one way to end a chapter before you start gibbering aimlessly! Just through a main character at yours, and hope no-one gets defenestrated! Anyways, we are currently rejoicing in OVER 200 FOLLOWERS! And Favorites. I love you guys too~ As such, I shall grace you with enough Omakes to reach our limit! Yay! *shakes pom poms half-heartedly* I kid you not I have an entire document full of them, they're like my life savers.)**

* * *

…

 **In which Rydia is one of the few subordinates unafraid of death.**

…

"I'm kicking you off your high horse so hard you'll taste it, if it's the last thing I do!"

She snarls, and the words sound like the prelude to a fight- it's a startling contrast then, Squalo muses, to see the clinically insane Cloud forcefully shoving a bowl of popcorn into the bastard Vignola's arms with the type of aggression you'd expect to see in a knife fight.

Xanxus barely manages to narrow his eyes in anger, lips curling downwards, before he's being jostled sharply to the side as the aspiring Swordsman all but kicks him off the couch to make more space- the boys fingers twitch towards his guns, before Rydia glares darkly at him, a glint in her darkening eyes.

"What, pretty boy can't handle watching horror movies with his second in commands?"

She jeers, and Squalo runs over Xanxus' threat about 'Handling it with fire' as he scoffs loudly, a touch more incredulous than he had intended to let on.

" _Pretty_ boy?"

Maybe he deserves the fist that smacks his head hard enough for him to see stars, but he doesn't deserve the popcorn that's duly dumped over his head.

"It was either that, 'eyebrows' or 'half-assed tanuki'. Take your freaking pick, fish cracker."

Xanxus' ire immediately snaps to her from where Squalo had tackled him hard enough the entire couch had flipped, the shark himself repeating the insult 'fish cracker' angrily.

She ignores them both as she cries out in vicious triumph, immediately hooking up the probably illegally downloaded movie to the TV as she absent mindedly used the back of her foot and a burst of Cloud strength to right the couch- the sudden movement both rocks both males onto the floor, and causes the table Xanxus' hurls at her to miss, but she doesn't seem concerned as she aggressively yanks them back onto the piece of furniture, an unholy gleam in her eye.

A well-placed goad has her boss grumpily making his way through the impromptu marathon, even if he takes every opportunity to complain and nitpick everything- it has the opposite effect though, and soon all three are critiquing the killing techniques and ketchup bottles used for the blood splatters, Xanxus seeming to take particular offense to the unrealistic way duel guns are wielded.

Lussuria walks in on them when the 14-16 year-olds have already gotten into the flow of things, smiling fondly at where the recently mellowed Cloud is grinning (she wasn't beaming, _what are you talking about-)_ at how Xanxus had ended up forgetting himself as he slipped into a heated argument with his Strategy Commander, said Rain for a moment knocking his Sky off the pedestal he had put him on to blatantly point out all the flaws in the elder teens (" _by a year and 6 months, that hardly counts!")_ arguments.

Rydia suddenly overthrows everything they had established by casually mentioning that in all technicalities, the characters could have just smashed the mirror while it was covered. At that, Squalo and Xanxus both team up on her, hardly realizing their doing so, and Lussuria quietly takes a picture for the Ninth.

…

 **No-one likes Fridays except for that _one Cloud._**

…

Rydia makes an incoherent noise as she giggles, surprisingly high pitched and girly, and she isn't even drinking. Squalo gives her a wary look, nursing a bottle of vodka that had painted a barely there flush on his pale skin, and Lussuria collapses into laughter with her, apparently for no other reason than the fact she was laughing.

Bel has the same survival instincts as the Rain Commander though, so his grin slips off his face as he immediately backs away, grabbing the collar of Flans jacket to push the Mist in front of him- he seems to have underestimated just how much wine he had downed though, since he ends up tripping over a couch and taking the teal haired male down with him.

"Why are we the only sober ones?"

Flan deadpanned as he considered trying to untangle himself, before realizing Bel probably wouldn't be able to aim straight, and instead went for becoming as heavy as he possibly could, flattening the lithe blonde, who's death threat died into a wheeze for breath.

"Because the Pineapple fairy and our resident Money plant would both stab me for letting a Mist drink, and I'm fairly certain that if I did drink, I would either kill everyone I got my hands on, cry miserably, or laugh so hard I incapacitate myself."

She says dryly, pointedly waving a hand at Lussuria as they draped themselves drunkenly over Squalo only for the swordsman to throw the still cackling Sun at Levi hard enough that his hands finally sprung apart from where he had latched onto Xanxus' leg while crying wheezily.

The Boss immediately wrenched the limb back, having been about to shoot the Lightning in the face when breaking the man's arms hadn't got him to let go, before realizing he still could, and sending a spray of gun fire after the two Guardians.

Levi just kind of…lies there and takes it, and Rydia scowls at the blood seeping into the carpet even as Lussuria cooed delightedly, and wrapped himself around the guy like a koala, beaming as he tried to get him to bleed out faster.

Levi finally seems to realize what's going on, since he screams shortly and surges to his feet, the Sun still latched on to him, and begins staggering around breaking things.

Flan sighs as Bel finally gets enough leverage to roll the Mist off, and begins stabbing him aggressively in the back, lips spreading into a happy grin that shows almost as much teeth as Rydia's- said Cloud watches curiously as Squalo silently sways to his feet, before calmly walking out of the lounge area. She hesitates, wondering if she should go make sure he doesn't fall out of a window and into a bush again, but before she can make up her mind, he walks in with a cat and a bottle of ketchup.

She stares silently, because honestly, what the hell is she supposed to do, and everyone just stops what they're doing to stare eerily at the Rain Commander.

The cat purrs from where he's cradling it to his chest, face solemn, before he very calmly hands her the ketchup bottle and looks her in the eye.

"It's wants our finest red."

He regals her, and she can feel her lips twitching as she nods grimly back at him and draws a smiley face on the cats belly with ketchup- it looks horribly confused as it tries to clean itself off, but is suitably distracted when Squalo shoves it in Xanxus' face like the animal's a baby Simba.

"Shark scum- "

Xanxus starts, eyes narrowing and lips curling into a snarl, before freezing as the cat bats playfully at the feathers that hang braided into the Sky's hair.

"Long live the king,"

Squalo whispers, and looking his boss straight in the eye, throws a ketchup covered cat at his face.

Rydia falls clear off the couch as her school girly giggles explode through the room, Xanxus' cursing loudly as the cat promptly clings to his face in terror, getting ketchup on everything before it realizes how close it is to the feathers, and latching onto those instead- but the Sky's already thrown himself to his feet, and just because drunk Squalo is the best thing ever, she and Flan exchange knowing looks, before lunging and tackling their Sky around the hips from either side.

It makes it impossible for him to draw his guns and burn down the base, so instead he hurls himself at the Rain, taking the Mist and the Cloud with him as his howls of pure rage fill the room, hands glowing with the russet red of his Flames- Squalo grins nastily as his blade extends from his wrist, and Rydia wonders if what they're doing counts as mutiny, since she had gone from incapacitating his ability to draw his weapons, to completely disarming him, even as he elbowed her sharply in the jaw.

Flan blinks as he's pulled out of the mess by Mammon, arms around the cat, before leaning back to look the Arcobaleno in the eye.

"Safe,"

He says stoically, and pets the cat.

"What,"

The Mist hisses, having just gotten back from a mission- the old person in a pre-teens body flails a hand at where Rydia had folded her legs around their Boss's waist from behind, elbows touching as she linked her arms under Xanxus' to further restrain him, a manic smirk on her face- that being said, it does nothing to deter the sheer amount of Blood lust as he tries to murder his Strategy commander who's lips are split into a shark like mockery of a grin, eyes bright despite the alcohol undoubtedly making his movements sloppy.

"Rydia-nee has very strong Flames,"

He says calmly as she _restrains Xanxus with strength alone._ There's a thump as Levi passes out from blood loss, and Lussuria throws a table at the other three strongest members to see what happens- what happens is that Squalo gets hit in the face by a table, and Xanxus wastes no time in kicking him in the stomach, before turning his attention of the woman who was pointedly squeezing her legs around his ribs with enough force for them to strain.

"I can see that,"

Mammon snarls aggravatedly as Xanxus stabs her in the leg with a broken bottle, and then she's seriously trying to beat the shit out of him.

"Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost in repairs?!"

They demanded, before Bel cheerfully glomps Mammon and knocks Flan over in the process.

"I threw Levi out of the window,"

He purrs delightedly, and the Mist looks just so _done._

"She's not even drunk,"

Flan gapes, a note of awe sneaking into his otherwise monotone comment as the Hibari takes a punch to the face, but instead of actually attacking, grabs a bunch of stepped on flowers from a shattered vase and shoves it behind one of the aggravated Sky's ears, before kicking him in the face spitefully.

"Now you're pretty,"

She informs him, and maybe she deserves the rain of bullets. It doesn't make her stop laughing hysterically at her own joke though, cheerfully pointing out she can't die from blood loss.

And that, is that one drunk Friday everyone in the Varia has sworn not to mention, when they tried to take out their Boss and replace him with a ketchup covered cat that no-one knows where the hell came from.

…

 _They tried to mutiny with a cat._

 _…_

Well, Rydia, Squalo, and Flan did anyways. Mammon was unamused, Bel was too busy throwing things out of windows and on top of Levi, Lussuria was rolling around making angels in the puddle of blood, and Xanxus will never know Rydia got a picture of him with the flower behind his ear, because there's a thin-line between insane and just plain stupid.

He did find the picture of him with a cat clamped to his face though. Lussuria had to camp out in New Zealand for 2 months.

(No-one knows why he hasn't just straight up murdered all his subordinates yet, but since they're the only ones who can somewhat hold back their Sky when he finally surpasses his tolerance with over 9 bottles, everyone's glad for it. No. If you thought the Varia members were scary drunks- (they once went on a murder spree for funsies), You _would freaking shit yourself if you saw Xanxus._ )

 **…**

* * *

 **(A/N)**

 **Ayo! An extra long chapter to make up for the wait; but don't go expecting it to be a regular thing! School starts up next month, after all…**

 ***screams internally***

 **Anyways, On to the reviews! My apology if I miss anyone, since my E-mail's been lagging on terms of FF.**

 ***deep breath***

 **ANSWERING IN ONE GO!**

 **To;** OperaEagle IcelynLacelett, Guest, BasicallyComplicated , Four-eyes-girl , Natzed202 , kitsune-miko-witch , B.A Victoria , fate's mask , GuestEtha-

Sorry if it didn't come across right, but 'Sai' isn't what Red calls her, its just a verbal tic, like Ken's 'Byon' or Haru's 'Desu'.

*holds hands up in bemused surrender*

I don't think I have any deaths planned, though a few _have_ crossed my mind…I'm glad I managed to make you laugh, and with how childish she is, Squalo probably has hell editing any reports she gives, to make sure they don't get into a mafia war because the Varia Cloud is a spiteful little shit~

I'm just as excited for the Hibari reunion as you guys are, especially because the couple I made for Kyoya's birth is both the most terrifying thing ever and also the cutest.

For those in it for Squalo and Xanxus….*awkward laugh* well, it'll certainly be _interesting_ seeing how they meet….

Also, SLYTHERIN PRIDE! May have come off a bit strong, to be honest, but I regret NOTHING!

….I regret somethings.

It got better.

(it didn't. IM SORRY ABOUT OKURI OKAY)


	8. No-ones going to pick you up, Part 5

She clenches her jaw as a weight slams into her back- the force is enough so that she's actually knocked over, but training kicks in and she hits the ground with both hands, using the support to back flip to her feet.

Whatever hit her had been carried with her movement, and she spins around in annoyance to glare at where it should have fallen behind her.

Instead, she's greeted by a flash of bright silver and light that glinted off metal, before the figure is hurtling back towards the guy who had thrown them, body so low to the ground that she's genuinely surprised that they don't just flat out face plant.

Her darkened eyes focus on the buff male who had thrown the figure at her, suitably pissed off by the torn skin of her palms ( _Why does rug burn hurt so much?!),_ even as the dark Italian dodged swiftly around the streamlined projectile of a human, the double-edged blade the smaller one carried sweeping out in an arc that would have slit the elder teens Achilles tendon if he hadn't been faster than a hair.

Normally, she would have respected the duos fight, and given them space.

Normally wasn't when she was certain the darker Italian had thrown his opponent at her to slow them down, assuming _she wasn't a threat._

She _growls,_ actually _growls,_ and damn if her Lobster wouldn't have busted a gut laughing at her for it, but when an opening shows itself in the smallest time frame she had ever had to operate in, she wastes no time drop kicking the elder Italian, kicking off his face to send him to the ground if the previous momentum wouldn't have, and lands neatly on her feet after flipping in the air.

The silver blur she now recognizes to be another male skid to a halt, flashing sterling eyes at her in outrage.

"VOIIIIIII! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!"

He bellows, and she feels something close to horror coil itself in the back of her mind- she doesn't pay it any attention for the moment though, turning blazing eyes on him even as her lips curled down.

"I wasn't aware it was common place to simply stand by when some ingrown tree decides to hurl a mini loud speaker at you,"

She drawls, tone aloof, as she had never been one to get into shouting matches- the shorter pre-teen shares none of her reservations though, and they both ignore the groan of pain from the male she had downed with all the force of a pissed off Hibari.

"VOIII, THAT WAS _MY_ FIGHT YOU- "

Before he can complete whatever he had been about to call her, nothing flattering she was sure, she swung sharply into a round house kick aimed at the side of his head- he blocks it with enough strength to jar her all the way to the hip, and his eyes narrow into calculating slits.

"Don't get me wrong, I normally have no interest in interrupting fights- as it stands however, _you've both pissed me off."_

She isn't sure when the fight started, and as she just about ducks under the edge of a blade that nearly shaves her head off, she realizes the silverette had been playing with the other male earlier; learning his sword style through the fight if her combat sense was right- the notion rings a bell somewhere in the back of her mind, but she has no time for it, since she wasn't a swordsman and he stood nothing to gain by dragging out their fight.

For a moment, she allows him to press the offensive, trying to use it to time his movements as she usually did with opponents- it ends up being a bad decision, since it seems his patchwork of a fighting style was based on his ability to slice and dice the living daylights out of people, whereas hers was more abrasive.

Nevertheless, she barely managed to leap out of his reach before his blade slid neatly through her ribs, using a palm to push the lip of his blade edge down- it forces the handle to rotate in his grip, showing her the flat side, and she uses the nanosecond it takes him to react to drive a knee into his stomach, and then spin around and hit him in the throat with a steel toed boot.

He doesn't stagger backwards, taking the punishment and she hisses as his blade sunk into her arm, before flashing a tooth filled grin at him- though mildly startled by the intensity of his own shark like mockery of one, it doesn't do anything to slow her down as she pushes the blade further into the back of her arm, stopping just before it would cause permanent damage, and used the halting of his attack to smash a Cloud enhanced elbow under his jaw.

He throws his head up with the motion, decreasing the damage, but it limits his field of vision, and then the previous advantage she had accidentally given him is null and void; the fight swiftly turning into the physical rendition of 'Unstoppable Force, meet Unbreakable Wall.'

It's not long into the battle that they both realize their almost evenly matched, and it soon goes from frenzied strikes and instinctive slashes to calculative movements that drive them further down the hallway- she's mildly aware of the wreckage formed in their fight, _6 minutes so far,_ but can't bring herself to care about gouged paneling, kicked through plaster, torn down displays, or porcelain vases under her feet- the only thing to pierce through her battle haze are too sharp sterling silver eyes, and the murmurs as a crowd slowly begins to build at the ends of the corridor.

It's when she finally has to start using Murasaki to replenish the blood she lost that she realizes why the male she had finally recognized was hailed as both the future Strategy Commander of Varia as well as Sword Emperor.

While there was a distinctive blood lust that clouded his still inexperienced eyes, he wasn't just reacting as she was.

He was planning.

Though she possessed analytical skill, quickly learning how to avoid his more commonly used strikes, he was hailed as _the_ prodigy of swordsmanship, and its only when he almost takes her ribs out with a sudden lash of his leg she had used moments ago, that she starts doing more than reacting to openings, now actively trying to create them.

It wasn't something she was used to having to do, but she manages to falter into a choppy rhythm of darting in, pushing the offensive, then pulling back in defense until she blocked an attack and a new opening was created.

Hell, the only reason she isn't a pile of bloody ribbons was because of her ability to suddenly vary both her strength and speed with Murasaki, throwing him off guard every time she did, even if it was faint.

He was just like her Lobster in that manner, that he acclimated to speed and strength enough so that it became a weakness- but the way he fought wasn't the clean cut, methodical way of a professionally trained combatant, it was too rapidly interchanging to be.

Despite him using a double edged sword, he seemed to have bastardized the limited amount of sword attacks she was aware of, jabbing like a fencer before suddenly spinning around and slashing with the momentum gathered in a way similar to how samurai used the movement of unsheathing a katana to get maximum force; and as she cuffed him around the ankles with a foot, and used the second he took to turn with the motion in order to ram an elbow into his ear, thus throwing him off balance, she resigned herself to a long fight.

 _10 minutes_ , And they've finally begin to wear at each other, his insane amount of stamina rivalled by her Cloud Flame enhancements, bogged down as it was by the amount she was investing in keeping her blood levels steady- while she hadn't gotten him to bleed as she was, there's blood welling up from the bruises she inflicted as they split open, and she's fairly certain she'd broken or at least cracked his hip- he shows no sign of it however, and their breathing has gone from soft and carefully hidden, to a barely covered up labour.

 _13 minutes;_ were people actually placing bets on them?

Her eye twitched as Murasaki began to falter, despite her reserves being nowhere near depletion- evidently, she was fighting far past what her rehabilitation had reestablished. Apparently, her opponent caught the sign of weakness, since his eyes narrowed in suspicion- before she could try to decipher his reasoning, a sudden jab had her forcing herself into a bridge, and he scowled in distaste, abruptly halting his attack in sheer annoyance.

"VOIII, you're fucking injured? Do you take me for some sort of fucking joke?!"

He snarled, clearly pissed, but she was both reeling from the surprisingly intense fight as well as her previous anger at not being taken as a threat, so it's no surprise when her mouth runs ahead of her brain, a touch more incredulous than she would have wanted to let on.

"You can talk like a normal person?!"

"VOIII! ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION YOU SHITTY WITCH!"

He snarled, aiming a kick at her, only for her to dodge it with a scowl.

"I'd assume taking you for a joke would be a bit late, considering you're the reason I'm injured,"

She seethes, even as she starts to come off her spit of anger, and he gives her a dark look in response, his Flames swelling viciously in a way that made her rightfully wary, since it reminded her of _(Overpowering Flood that could drown the Clouds themselves)_ how Murasaki had surged, back in the Carcassa Mansion.

…. That was actually impressive, though it would come as no surprise to meet someone with more resolve than her. After all, all that made her strong was _fear._

"Oh,"

She realizes flatly, calming down as she felt her Flames prickling trying to keep her collapsing from blood loss, and while some subconscious instinct tells her to submit and back away from his clearly wounded pride, she doesn't move, meeting his glare head on stubbornly. To move would be to admit weakness, something she only did on her own terms.

"Yeah, I've got a few bullet holes in me and my Flames aren't in top condition. Still rivaled you though,"

She tacks on at the end, her shoulders thrown back slightly in defiance to match his aggravated stance.

"VOIIIII, NOT THE FUCKING POINT YOU SHITTY CLOUD!"

He raged, and she groaned faintly under her breath as he outed her Flame type to the suddenly increased whispering of the student body; still observing them as though they were watching a natural disaster in the making, which….

She flicked a gaze around as the loud swordsman yelled at her some more, punctuating it with his wildly swinging sword that wasn't even aiming at her but almost gave her an impromptu hair cut anyways, and winced internally at the amount of destruction around them.

…Yeah, she could see why they would be gaping.

"VOIIIII, ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING LISTENING?!"

"Not particularly, but going on what I know about the situation, you were about to, or already did, yell something about me tainting your pride as a swordsman, and you want me to rematch you when I'm back in top shape? I refuse. I fought you as compensation for interrupting your match, and wish no further interaction with you."

Which was a bald-faced lie, because she hadn't had much choice in fighting him. She really didn't want to interact with him anymore than she had to, though.

"VOIIIIII! YOU THINK I FUCKING CARE?! I'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU ANYWAYS!"

He roared, and she deflated with a sigh, suddenly feeling twice her age. That matched up with canon, Superbia Squalo was a forceful little shit.

But she could still hope!

He hadn't confirmed his name.

"What even is your name?"

She asked, finally forsaking her prose as a writer ride in her vocabulary to just sound _done._

"SQUALO SUPERBIA, AND YOU BETTER FUCKING REMEMBER IT!"

He snapped, and there was a moment of stilted silence as they both realized they literally had nothing else to say to the other, and so just because she felt like it, she lifted a hand in a lazy salute.

"Yo Squalo Superbia 'and you better fucking remember it', I'm Rydia Hibari. Pleasure. Tea? Coffee? large wooden stick rammed down your throat?"

Before he could respond with something along the lines of ' _screw off',_ She raised an eyebrow at the crowd gathered at Squalo's end of the hallway, staring as they all abruptly parted like the red sea and the blonde from her History class face planted in the space they left.

…. she got the sudden impression she would regret it if she stayed where she was, but she didn't trust herself not to face plant just as epically if she moved, and she was certain Squalo was in the same situation- prodigy he may be, but if her assumption of his age being 11 was right, he was 3 years from being strong enough to take down the sword emperor.

Right now, he was an 11-year-old pre-teen barely making it to 5 feet, had just been put through the blender with a Cloud, and his pride was stopping him from backing down before she did.

The blonde groaned in pain as he peeled his face off the floor before seeming to remember his previous intention, since he attempts to leap to his feet- his feet catch on the carpet and he has to twist to avoid an inch-long piece of what used to be delicate china.

"S-Squalo! Are you okay?"

"VOIIII, THE FUCK WOULDN'T I BE?!"

He growled, and the blonde quickly back tracked, seemingly unable to maneuver around the others ability to turn everything into an insult against his pride.

Taking pity on the _way_ shorter mafioso, (She forgot boys before puberty were flipping _tiny,),_ she impassively raised a hand like she was in elementary school asking for permission to speak.

When it caught their attention, she deadpanned, tone flatter than concrete.

"He is not okay. I am not okay. With time, we may even face plant as brilliantly as you did. Maybe. I don't know, your face plant was pretty legendary."

The blonde, who had apparently been on tunnel vision checking to see if the silver head was okay, faltered and for some reason thanked her, apparently not having a proper reaction at hand for her blatant admission of weakness- the shark reacted more appropriately, scowling darkly at her.

"VOIIII, don't put me on the same fucking level as you!"

She stared at him silently for a moment, before raising her voice so it carried to the entire room.

"And I quote, 'He sank the boat he was working on just to kill the Captain.'"

Saying so, she took a step forward, and poked him harshly in the forehead- it caused him to overbalance, and her knees to buckle, and within moments he was flat on his ass and twitching like he wanted to rip her spine out and hit her with it, while she had more gracefully fell onto her back, knees still bent and with her hand up in a victory sign.

"So, how advanced is your infirmary?"

"VOIIIII, THE FUCK IS _WRONG_ WITH YOU?!"

"I stopped giving shits around the time I realized you wouldn't leave me alone."

….

"So, as I see it, there are two ways we could go about this- I could avoid the hell out of you, or I could simply not fight you when you challenge me, and- OW! OKAY, I get it, I'll stop moving! Why are medics so evil?"

"humph."

"VOIIIII, if you did that i would just kill you on the spot! AND I TOLD YOU I'M FINE, JUST LET ME GO ALREADY YOU STUPID- MMPH!"

" _Oh dear, I seem to have accidentally used medical tape to seal Superbia's lips. Now, will you let us wrap your wounds, or do I have to break out the chloroform?"_

"Point. I'd rather not be killed on the spot. On that note, are you guys actually legalized to use sedatives on us?"

"Enough to kill an elephant, yes. Eh- EH?! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO YOUR FLAME RESERVES, HUH?!"

"…I have the right to remain silent."

"Milly, give me a hand with the Hibari, would you?"

" _With pleasure, Ayah."_

"…Oi…. ADFGHKL #$%^% ) THE FREAKIN HECK IS THAT- "

"V-Voii…"

…

Dino hesitated at the doorway of the infirmary, before warily trudging in, taking in the sunlight spilling into the room through arching floor length windows that bathed the multitude of herbal and normal plants scattered throughout what appeared to be the entrance area.

like many parts of the Academy, it seemed though the medical area had been sprawled through several rooms by someone with the barest idea of how things worked.

Such was the way of the rich, he supposed.

Shuffling past wooden cabinets full of medicine; a decontamination room that looked so much more modern than the rest of the space that it was startling; and into the section that housed the patients was a familiar routine, him smiling sheepishly at the Rain of a nurse, Milly, who nodded at him in recognition before she trotted back towards another set of patients, most of whom seemed to be suffering bullet wounds.

It was easy to pin point Squalo from there, simply following the loudest source of noise to the beds put as far away as possible from the rest of the more…. _delicate_ patients- he really wasn't sure what he was expecting when he saw the swordsman grumpily trying to rip the bandages off himself, snarling something about 'restraining his movements'.

"That's the point, blade for brains."

The girl in the bed beside him drawled sarcastically across the paper divider, her arm bound tightly to her chest with bandages already speckled with dots of blood; even as she hypocritically pulled at her gauze until it loosened.

Dino couldn't help but agree with her, even as he frantically dared to tug insistently at the swordsman's less bruised elbow, trying to get him to stop before he ripped any of the stitches sowing his skin together.

Luckily for the blonde, the girl distracted Squalo from biting his head off when she managed to sit up, for some reason looking paler than she had been before, even when she had been bleeding more than her bodies worth all over the place.

"How did you know I was a Cloud anyways?"

She asked, grimacing as blood trickled from her lips- Dino felt like bashing his head into something. What was it with strong people and pretending they were immortal?

"VOIII, ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT? What other Flame Type would survive more than 3 minutes with a foot-long gash in the back of their arm?!"

"…. I would argue, but I'm pretty sure I did a lot more than nick my brachial artery. On that note, my legs are fine, you have stitches wherever I could kick you, and I broke your hip. _Point._ Also, at least I get an epic scar from this!"

"VOIIII, DON'T FUCKING SAY ' _POINT'_ WHEN THERE ISNT ONE! I CAN STILL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!"

…It was like watching a really intense ping pong match, and while Dino would have preferred to just stand by and watch, _Squalo was legitimately trying to attack the Cloud when there was an IV drip in his arm,_ and he kind of wanted to start crying when his attempts to restrain the monster of a 11 year old ended up with a broken window, a girl cursing without actually cursing, 3 shattered pots, a shredded divider, mutual attempts at strangulation, Squalo getting blood spat into his eye, the girl having Squalo's IV stand fall on her head, and it only ended when Milly ran in, Rain Flames blazing.

He ended up with a broken foot and plant sprouts in his hair.

…

"I'm realizing this is only my first day."

The girl suddenly says, 2 hours later, and after a Sun had sped up both their healing rates- Dino sighs from where he's on the bed flanking Squalo's free side, the shark glaring moodily at her.

"The fuck do you want to say by that?"

He spat venomously, and the girl gives him a look chillingly close to the one Xanxus, the Vongola's adopted heir, often graced Squalo with, all dark indifference mixed with iron hot annoyance and the ashes of the fuse that was rapidly approaching too short- the difference was in her dull expression, like she was looking at them through a screen, like they were nothing but fleeting memories.

It's gone before it's even there, but Squalo seemed to have caught it better than he had, and now he's gone still in his bed, studying her with the type of curiosity given to a bug that had managed to do something mildly impressive.

"Nothing, really. Just that landing myself in the infirmary on my first day is a bit pathetic."

She continues, breaking the moment, which had risen all of Dino's hackles.

"What's your name, anyways?"

She asks, turning her attention on Dino when Squalo doesn't answer, studying her with blade sharp eyes.

"E-eh? Me? Ah, my name is Dino Chiavarone."

She twitches at the name, and may have muttered an _'of course it is,'_ under her breath, but ultimately fades into silence, only to speak again a few moments later.

"Why the hell would you pick the stupid ass names Dino and Squalo anyways?"

"VOIIIII! YOU DON'T FUCKING CHOOSE YOUR FUCKING NAME YOU FUCKING RETARD!"

…

Sky Flames behaved strangely. While the other Classes of Flames all largely stayed within their hosts bodies, and only came to surface when called and condensed into an external form, Skies seemed to subconsciously reach out tendrils of their Flames, attempting to match the frequency of the people around them even if they weren't aware of it.

Saying so, it was a curious thing to observe Dino's average sized reserves interacting with the signatures around him, especially watching as the seeking tendrils tried to mingle with Squalo's, apparently guided to the male on terms of him being one of the few to treat Dino with the barest hint of respect.

Or what passed for it, anyways- that being said, Squalo didn't seem like the type to actively disrespect people, his 'holier than thou' attitude more subconscious than malicious; pride based if you will.

But she was derailing herself- The Rain's reserves were quite a bit larger than Dino's.

Not the incredible and damaged size of her own that led to her Flames overflowing her like she had sprung a leak; seeping into her surroundings; but a more natural space that expanded part way up the hollow of his neck and followed the size of his ribs from there on down- the difference in size, combined with how Squalo saw himself as above those who couldn't match him, was a clear recipe for rejection, and the only reason she kept watching was because she was interested in why the Sky would still try to bond with him.

though the Sky Flames got some form of traction on his Flames, it was clearly not enough to attract and bond with the swordsman, his reserves sliding and flowing around the Sky's attempt at matching frequencies, even spiking viciously at the softer tendrils like jagged glass shards when they managed to gain more hold than their level of trust allowed.

Her lips quirked as she watched from behind her eyelids when the Sky's Flames warily approached her own- curious, she released all control over Murasaki, turning her attention from her surroundings to her own Flames.

The Sky Flames pressed against the outside of hers, and she faintly alarmed at how Murasaki rose to meet it, not spiking and forcefully removing the Sky, but instead swelling; revealing its true size like an animal baring its teeth, the action making her take note that her eyes had most likely turned Violet as a result.

Almost immediately, the Sky backed off- she wasn't sure what her bitter mind was expecting, perhaps a forced entry like the Carcassa boss, but Dino's Flame nature seemed unwilling to try and bond with her without invitation- she doubted that Squalo's tentative friendship should've counted as an invitation, but if her theory was correct, Dino's position as an Extroverted Sky Nature probably meant he would feel more comfortable with a large amount of bonded Flame users; something he was likely to be starving himself of in a misguided attempt to deny his fate in the mafia; subconsciously making himself desperate for any type of interaction and attraction.

Unlike the 'all-encompassing' Sky nature; the future Vongola Decimo, whose insane Flame purity would accept all who approached him for shelter; thus, adhering to his Extroverted nature despite going against his Mafia fate, the current Dino was a Sky actively going against themselves to the point she was certain he would latch onto his first Guardians with the extremity of a Cloud, though going by what she knew, it would fade once his Flames re-stabilized.

That being said, the way he was going about it right now; screaming internally and lashing out at the world, put him in danger of damaging his Flames and causing them to split; much like how Lal Mirch's had during the Arcobaleno curse as she went from a Rain to a Misty Cloud.

In his case however, he was probably more of a Rain Cloud- soothing but so dedicated to what was his, that his psychological clumsiness was based entirely on his need to protect them.

…She hoped Reborn was called to intervene soon- though she cared little for the Plot, a damaged Sky was more trouble than it was worth.

"VOI, what the fuck are you doing?"

Squalo snapped, and she barely hid her jolt of shock, lost as she was in her musings- her heart settled from where it had jerked to her mouth in surprise, and grimaced internally when she realized how poor her observatory skills were. She really needed to work on being proactive rather than reactive.

"Trying to sleep,"

She lied blandly, and recalled Murasaki to stop leaking her Flames all over the place as she cracked an eye open, confused as to why he had sounded so annoyed.

When she receives no clarity other than a dark glare and an irritated spike of his Flames, lips curled down in ( _thoughtful?)_ anger, she sits up, now faintly wary, because from what she gathered, Squalo was _confrontational,_ and she was already starting to realize concern was a valid reaction to silent and calculative anger.

"VOIIII! Control your fucking Flames!"

He snarls instead, and she chalks it up to how she had been leaking her Flames before, rolling her eyes as the nurse walks in the room with a Sun to speed up their healing even further.

But hey, at-least Squalo indirectly admitted to being able to sense Flames!

Well, it was probably more about his keen perception, but still. _Information._

( _She never did realize that externally projected Flames, if not properly dismissed, automatically try to bond with Flame signatures of similar strength in an act to balance itself out, since an inability to dismiss Flames hints at an unhealthily large reserve size. though an unusual action from Cloud Flames, which often simply seeped into the area in order to mark territory, her Flames weren't exactly wired straight.)_

…

She was glad to note that the Academy, did, indeed, have _really freaking good medical advances,_ since although the Sun's couldn't completely heal their injuries, they were recovered enough to start moving around at the end of the day, even if they weren't in top shape.

The reason completely healing someone wasn't recommended was because unless you had been exposing yourself to the activation factor in small increments to create a resistance, there was the danger of the body shutting down and going into a comatose state to catch up to the strain of causing the cells into regenerating past set capabilities.

Considering that over-exposition to said factor could jumpstart hereditary cancer as well as wear out your body's natural healing process, most Mafiosi used Sun Flames to cause horrific deaths rather than instantly healing themselves recurrently, nicely balancing things out.

Having said that, the information had been passed on when the medic assigned to them decided to give them an impromptu breakdown on Medical theory relating to Flames- apparently getting addicted to Sky Flames was an actual danger, as was hardening yourself with Lightning Flames to the point of becoming brittle, and accidentally propagating skin, bone, disease cells, harmful substances, and even body parts- Strom Flame users on the other hand, had a past of deconstructing themselves from the inside out with the use of Psychological triggers that suggested their Flames could affect their body from the internally- Loss of control even led to spontaneous combustion.

Rain Flame users were known for sending people and even themselves into comas, to the point of a vegetative state and even shutting down organs; often making themselves victims of Shock- Mists however, were known for being linked to mental illnesses, from psychotic delusions to early dementia and even indulging in their illusions so much that they lost all sense of perception; often ending up killed in the strange and cruel manners created by their minds.

…It was very thorough, and if she wasn't paranoid before, this had slammed her into overdrive.

Ruffling her hair in annoyance, she strode out of the infirmary, leaving Squalo's cursing and Dino's yelp as he failed at life behind her; taking a moment to reorient herself, before retrieving the folded map from her skirt pocket and beginning to make her way to the girl's dorms.

She hadn't been given a key, her sad excuse of luggage had been transferred there with her sponsor-ship funded school supplies (She was learning that the Academy gave exactly zero shits about how normal institutions worked,), whoever was supposed to show her to the dorms and tell her the room number hadn't shown; and this was evidently some sort of start to a backwards excuse of a mafia hazing routine.

She was a 33-year-old woman in the body of an 11-year-old, when she had already had the mental age of a _40-year-old when she used to be 13,_ and she was

 **d.**

…. she allowed a wicked smirk to curl her lips as she ended up having to exit the main building and cut across a sort of garden area towards the East Wing, the number of accessible entrances having been narrowed for security reasons.

Okay, that was a lie. She was _very_ amused.

After all, now she had an acceptable reason to absolutely _terrify everyone around her into submission._

 _…_

 _Hibari Rydia._

In ways of looks, there was a certain harshness that insinuated the girl would've looked gorgeous as a male; the way her jaw was structured, a composite of sharp lines that would've been flattered by broader shoulders and a thicker neck to rival the lithe, lean and long arches that spoke of flexibility training rather than that of strength.

After all, when one was looking for beautiful, gorgeous females, the mean, almost masculine side to androgynous, was far from a first choice- despite this, it wasn't the clear intimidation that made the few girls lounging in the halls of the dorms wary.

No, many them had their own scarred, vulpine features to kick them face first from any beauty pageants, and not all of them had the strength to back it up, so she should have registered as just another mook who walked in with the confidence of a chip on their shoulder.

However, it was easy to see past the confidence and effortless stride, to the way she entered the Wing with paranoia, treating it with the cautiousness it deserved, hand swaying loosely near her weapon, and chin tilted _just so_ in the way that let her stand tall without baring her neck.

The way she managed to gauge threat levels without coming off as spineless or arrogant, combined with the showing she had put on with _Superbia fucking Squalo,_ was enough for few to trail after her with all the curiosity of scavengers, mockingly interested in her actions if it meant they could pick at whoever was left crippled in her storm.

In spite of those few observers, many were still accounting for their own routines- the entry of a scholarship was something that could wait to be acknowledged, and among those confined to themselves, were the ones who regarded the established hierarchy of the Academy with the looming fear that made them avoid the bigger names, fearing their attentions.

But no matter- according to tradition, she shouldn't have known where her room was, and so it was with a growing confusion that the girls regarded her surety in step, even more so when she was _going the right way,_ eyes flicking and cataloguing those around her as though it in anyway directed her- she reached a conclusion however, and lazily started taking the stairwell to the fourth floor in place of the elevator.

The girls who had until then been dogging her, fell back from their positions, coming to the slightly disappointed realization there wouldn't be any violence or forceful displays of strength used in getting her room number, like so many before her, and thus there wouldn't be anyone to degrade and pull down under their feet.

…. How _curious._

…

Rydia had no fucking idea where she was going.

The walls in the East wing were monotone shades of elegant blue, with charcoal gray wood paneling and a thick carpet with impressions of suspicious stains- the hallway was decorated with bay windows and small bookshelves, making her thoughts slip to the Ravenclaws of Hogwarts.

Well, she supposed her half assed analyzing was getting her _somewhere,_ since the vulture like girls trailing her had dropped away in disappointment once she started taking the stairs, but _still._

She was surprised no-one had called her out on it, she knew for a fact her old man and Okuri would have swatted her upside the head for the awkward acting.

Returning to what she had been doing before; recording the reactions of those around her by their Flames as well as the subtle flick of eyes many scared or interested in her exhibited; and using it as directions, it wasn't long until she found herself at door 418.

Knocking sharply on the thick slab when a glance at the lock made her note said lock was engaged, she wasn't all too surprised when no-one bothered to open it.

Further down the hall, a few girls were being thrown out of their rooms by another group who wanted it, even as sound bled through from the floor above as someone yelled about 'STOP LEAVING DEAD BODIES IN THE CLOSET BRITTANNY!'

Shrugging and deciding whatever she did wouldn't be as obnoxious as the red head trying to suffocate her twin in a potted plant, she casually determined that the doors weak spot was below the door jamb, and kicked it down with a Cloud infused leg- she wasn't expecting the presumably heavy-duty feature to break clean off its hinges, and so muttered an apology as an Arabian looking Lightning stared in mute horror at her suitably crushed homework.

Her eyes found violet orbs before she could do more than register Flavia _(The Mist who tried to get her lost was her room-mate?),_ and abruptly realized there really was no escaping Canon.

Iris Hepburn tilted her head with a vulpine curl to her pouty lips, and Rydia had the sudden urge to throw a toaster at someone.

 _(On the opposite side of the compound, Dino whined in pain as he tripped over a gun and hit his head on the counter of his dorm room, only for the toaster to topple on top of him with all the wrath of something that failed at its only job by burning the bread. He thought he heard his Dorm mate face desk, but he was a bit busy making dying kitten noises.)_

* * *

 **(I feel like a terrible person because we've surpassed 300 followers but my writing is so awkward and the chapters so late. Anyways, you guys know what a milestone means!)**

* * *

 **Unusual? Yes. Family? …. if you stretch it.**

 _…_

Rydia stilled at the kitchen counter, before resuming stirring the bowl of cake batter, adding an entire packet of chocolate chips as an afterthought. Behind her, Lussuria hummed cheerfully under their breath as they entered the dining area; the extended kitchen being something implemented when the paranoid Cloud had joined the assassination group, almost a decade ago.

She could hear the bickering of their resident Storm and Mist pair, followed by the dull thunk of knives hitting their target, and a flat statement of pain said more for theatrics rather than in emotion- they were the only ones free of missions for the day, save Xanxus, who had secluded himself in his office once again.

Squalo and Levi were running maintenance on the Varia's contacts, while Mammon had requested permission to do a bit of free-lance work- Lussuria would have just come back from cutting down a crime lord getting too big for his britches, and as the only officially female member, who was more likely to be underestimated by those not deep into the Mafia, (as well as the most Manipulative, though they were loath to admit it,) she had been booked to attend a Mafia Ball to dig the Varia's claws into as many corrupt government officials and minor Famiglias as she could.

"How'd it go, Luss?"

She asked blandly, unamused by the thick wrap of Mist Flames around their supposed Sun- the fact the subordinates hadn't caught it meant she would be…. _rearranging_ their training schedules. The Hibari way.

"Mou, do you really even have to ask? I'm hurt!"

They whined, and she lazily turned to stare at the blacked out shades the Sun wore, in the unnerving way that could make even Flan start to fidget.

Granted, he did his best to hide it, but she had mastered the 'dissecting you and putting you back together' look on Kyoya every time he had tried to challenge her authority as a kid.

From what she could tell, it made him uncomfortable because he found it unusual that a predator, the concept of which he associated with fast and graceful movements, could be so…. _still._

"Is there something on my face?...!"

The Sun fretted, using the excuse to break eye contact as they quickly picked up a mirror, which….

"Oh honey,"

She sighed, wrapping her arms around the Suns neck in a 'hug' meeting their eyes in the mirror with a half-lidded gaze.

"They're blind."

She didn't give the Mist a moment to react, snapping their neck sharply- from the lounge, Bel and Flan simultaneously called 'Not It', Bel a second slower than the Mist.

"Dammit,"

He spat, and she rolled her eyes, picking up the body and dragging it to a window.

"What are you complaining about? You get to slaughter an entire crime ring and bring Lussuria back from their shopping trip if they actually stopped flirting long enough to kill things."

"Shishishishsi, the Prince shouldn't have to do peasants work!"

He snarled petulantly, and she levered the window open with a foot, taking aim at Squalo as he and Levi exited the car that had pulled up to the driveway.

"Are you trying to say a Peasant can do work better than the Prince?"

She asked dryly, far too used to goading her Family into doing what she wanted, mainly by pitting them against themselves.

"…You suck,"

He hissed vehemently, then stabbed Flan when the mist let out a monotonous 'Well, he is a fake prince', Their carried 'conversation' punctuated by the surprisingly loud reaction of the Strategy Commander when the body hit him head on.

She would have thrown it at Levi, but Squalo was the _light one,_ regardless of what he said against it, and it was always funnier to see him carve something coming his way on instinct, and his moment of realization when the blood got in his hair.

Also, when he was tired, he got completely knocked over.

She was unashamed to admit she and Xanxus had gotten into a non-vocal and thus unofficial challenge on who could piss Squalo off for the longest time, and she was leading with a '2-hour tirade as well as impromptu death match' over putting pink hair dye into his conditioner.

It was completely worth the deadly prank war that overtook the headquarters, only to call a truce when Lussuria started using it as an excuse to grope the rest of the members.

* * *

 **(A/N)**

 **Schools in a few days and I'm panicking.**

 **Before we get down to it, I didn't think I'd ever have a reason to do this, but eh. For any Naruto fans, I've got a fic recommendation- its honestly an interesting idea to me, so for those looking for something a bit unique and on the canine side, feel free to check it out~**

 _Kintsugi by Uzumaki D Naruto_

 ***Ahem***

 **REVIEW ANSWERS!**

 **To;** B.A Victoria, GuestEtha, ren7720, Vaughn Tyler-

 **I hope future chapters don't disappoint~ *sweating nervously***

 **To;** Procrastinatingismyforte-

 ***Snickers* I'm glad you enjoy my brand of spontaneous humor~**

 **To;** ONDER

 ***grins* sankyu! *selective reading, XDD ***

 **To;** Jucca

 ***giggles* I'm glad you're invested enough to put so much thought into it, and I'll admit, Dino and Squalo would be much easier to write- unfortunately, the balance has tipped in Xanxus' favor, and I don't know what to do, so I'm going to thank you for giving me inspiration, XDD**


	9. No-ones going to pick you up, Part 6

Rydia was not a confrontational person- it was unexpected, but that's exactly what it was. Blind rage, demanding answers and forcing your way had always seemed useless to her, because punching at a wall until it broke was both tiring and most of the time it wasn't even the right wall.

No, she preferred passive aggressive smiles and body language, short answers to show displeasure, and drawn out, eerily calm, break downs of people's actions; whittling at the walls weak spots until it gave way and it was her crushing them under her heels.

Having said that, it really shouldn't have surprised anyone when she looked the future Millefiore soldier in the eye, and pointedly stepped into the space decorated with the girls Cloud Flames.

She didn't flare her signature, but ignored them all as she strolled into the room, using a foot to lever the door off the Lightning's homework; of which the sandy blonde graced her with a vaguely annoyed look- she looked to be of mixed blood, with almost aristocratic features and a catholic cross around her neck.

Shifting her weight, she allowed the door to fall out of the way, and still not directly addressing anyone, found the empty bunk with her possessions alongside it, and begin checking everything was as it should be.

The room was surprisingly large for only four girls, with two sets of bunk beds lying parallel to each other just out of alignment with the door.

One was against the wall, and hers seemed to be the top bunk; she grimaced at the recollection of breaking her arm Before when she fell out of her _floor level_ bed. Three times. That was going to be fun. Futons were mercy….

There was a seating arrangement and mini kitchen attached to the area, with a Tv and radio nestled above a display case someone seemed to be using as a weapons rack- the coffee table was stacked with what she guessed to be the Arab's theory textbooks and homework, as she couldn't see any of the other room-mates displaying the least amount of interest in paperwork.

Nail polish bottles and lipstick tubes were scattered in odd places, and clothes were thrown messily over the back of desk chairs; of which there were only two. The couches had suspicious stains on them, and she casually ignored the strange way the closet was bulging; the person locked inside screaming hysterically in a decidedly male voice.

Flavia scowled and threw an ornamental skull head full of throwing knives at said closet, shutting the person inside with a whimper of fear.

"If any of you annoy me, I'm traumatizing you. My name is Hibari Rydia, and I have no interest in any of you."

She warned fairly, and the Lightning cast a pointed look at the door, before rolling her eyes and bringing the homework over to the bunk below hers- she wasn't certain why she had been doing it on the floor before, but didn't question it.

"My name is Lena, and my last name is none of your business. That over there is the resident female bitch of a Cloud, Iris Hepburn- she's 16, I'm 18, And Flavia Bovino, the creepy one with all the weaponry, is 12.

We have 3 other Clouds in this dorm, so if any of you get into a territorial pissing match, _take it outside, nobody wants to deal with that shit._

There's no real age system in this Academy, but general rule of thumb is that if you and your partner start getting over PG13, _find a room that doesn't have kids in it, for Christ's sake._ That, or be shot by said kids shrieking in horror.

If you see a guy in these halls, or anyone that identifies as male; they aren't supposed to be here and killing or incapacitating them will earn you brownie points- same goes for girls in the guy's dorms, so beware if you ever try and go in there.

Whether your forced through initiation depends on your strength level, so asking you now, are you going to go batshit on anyone- "

"Yes."

"…. Okay then. Didn't even need to finish. Anything else you need to know? I don't need you ruining my day because you don't know how things work around here."

"No, not really- all of you stay away from what I claim, and we won't have problems."

Rydia replied, internally overwhelmed by the rush of information- apparently, she had lucked out with miss exposition. Lena nodded once firmly, before turning and beginning on her homework- content with the lack of confrontation, Rydia begin to take stock of her supplies.

….

Squalo shouldered the Library door open, arms laden with textbooks; a swiped sandwich between his teeth, and kicked it shut behind him- the sound resonated through the silent room, bouncing off carved bookshelves and texts that dated backwards the further you delved.

The textbooks found themselves dumped carelessly on an empty table with a heavy thunk; the spilled stack on further inspection seemingly worn by paging fingers- having relieved himself of his burden, he dropped into one of the chairs, leg burning in a sharp pain that spoke of unset breaks.

He didn't even blink.

Flipping to a book-marked page, he calmly began going through the history and lineage of revered sword masters- disturbingly, notes had been made alongside the manners of their deaths, criticizing the way their battles had been portrayed.

As time passed, more of his gathered books found themselves flipped open for cross reference, too sharp eyes piecing together the facts that overlapped, and how they would have affected a real-life situation- all too soon, he had half-finished constructs and breakdowns of sword styles that would have made anyone worth their secrets stiffen.

Curiously, _not a thing was legible._ Not in the 'I'm-totally-coding-the-shit-out-of-this' way, but more akin to how one might do a mental calculation and only write down the answer- nobody else could tell how the hell you reached your conclusion without prior instruction.

In short, you were that asshole straight A student who couldn't even share notes.

Bonus points if said conclusion was a half-jumbled mess of angle diagrams and entire paragraphs that was 99% mental jargon, with the remaining 1% picking apart the sword styles lineage and how they might be tracked down to places _far_ from their origin.

…. It shouldn't have made sense, should have been the fictional speculations of a child that dreamed bigger than they could physically reach.

Squalo had never cared much for what should have been.

 _(All that aside, Squalo was hardly quiet when he burst into fits of cursing or derogatory laughter, but when an 11-year-old silverette with a reputation for bloodlust is grinning like the cat who got the canary, it's a bit idiotic to try and shush them. Especially when its 1 am.)_

…

It was 1 am, she had finally managed to threaten everyone in her room into sleeping or leaving 3 hours ago, and Rydia doesn't know why she cares.

She doesn't know why she wakes up in the death throes of a nightmare with stifled killing intent and blood on her fingers nails to match the crescents gouged into her palms.

She doesn't know why sweat cools on her trembling limbs, why a scream of rage is halted in her throat until she's growling ferally into the darkness.

She doesn't know why all she can think about is evergreen and Skylarks that graze her fingers tips as they fly; fly away from her and a mourning, crippled ocean of violet.

None of it is real, after all.

 _(she ignores how Squalo looks like more than black and white print, how the manga never mentioned his hair being a spiky platinum blond rather than silver, how his sterling eyes reflected light with a realism unable to be gained through contacts. She ignores the scars he wears proudly, laced over his hands and limbs, marks that lead him a stride closer to his goal; even the barely there scar of silver that runs over the bridge of his nose. She ignores his very identity.)_

It'S nOt ReAl.

 _(She ignores Dino, the natural highlights in his hair never seen in his character design, the permanent yet unnoticeable bump that mars his nose from a too enthusiastic greeting with a flat surface. She even ignored the kindness and Loyalty that has him concerned for Squalo's health, the determination to be a good person that will make him willingly walk into a bloodbath for what is his. She ignores the ideals that shape him.)_

…

…

…

She didn't want it to be real, because then _(Betrayed eyes of green that looked up at her in_ YoUSaIdYoUWoUlDPrOtEcTMe, _cheery smiles that no-longer promised pain, suffering, and lOyAlTy-)_ would be real too.

Her failures would be real too, and so would how close she came to losing everything again, how close the minute hands that stroked 12 came to singing for her a second time.

So, she closes her eyes, unaware she had slipped back into her breathing exercises from the before, and remains fearless of death and pain.

None of it was real, after all.

 _(But she was oh-so-scared of losing loyalty all over again, terrified that her old man would look at her and see the insane woman with Asperger's that ticked like a clock instead of an insane girl with life in her limbs, death in her eyes, and something that could make pride gleam in unbreakable steel.)_

 _(…. What a joke.)_

…

Squalo was subject to the humble opinion that everyone and everything looked like shit before 7 am.

That being said, being woken up by your combat instinct, face down in your textbook, and with a 17-year old trying to stab you in the back wasn't exactly putting a rose filter over the day.

He scowled grumpily, using the teens own knife to slit her throat with effortless ease, glaring at the droplets of blood that had splattered over his notebook.

It seemed he would have to add 'Find a way to control where blood lands' on his training schedule.

Sighing, he vocalized his annoyance in a dark growl, dropping the flimsy, ill cared for switch blade to the ground as he walked from the room- he was unbothered about anyone looking at his notes or touching his books.

After all, he only had to hunt down and murder 3 students before people took a hint.

But digressing from the fact, he had mentioned people looking like shit before 7 am- if that was the case, then the new scholarship student took the cake.

She seemed to have been making her way down the corridor the Library was in; towards the north wing and dining area, but had been distracted by a few boys.

That is to say, one of them had their head through the wall, another was under her foot, and the last had scared himself so badly he shot himself in the foot- considering that her eyelids were dropping in the exhaustion that darkened her cognac orbs into a glassy sheen, it was rather pathetic.

Picking up a knife that had skidded from one of their hands, he weighed it for a moment, and found her glaring at him.

"Don't."

She growled, eyes narrowing at him- a smirk spread his lips, pulling back over his teeth, and he threw it at her with deadly accuracy.

She dodged by sending a potted plant in a collision course, and considering the blade was 7 cm at best, he had to do some fancy footwork to escape the following dirt implosion- rolling his eyes and deciding breakfast took priority over some Cloud that couldn't even reliably monitor her own skills and health to the point she was too lethargic to properly duck, he casually walked away.

He could practically hear her eye twitch.

Nevertheless, she sulkily dogged his footsteps down the connecting hallway- the peace didn't last however, suspicion peaking her voice into a wary question.

"You're weirdly quiet?"

"Its 4 fucking am."

He says as though it's the answer to the universe, and before she can retort, Dino turns the corner running at full tilt towards them.

Squalo's expression immediately crumples into a scowl, and he slows preemptively- she's once again exposed to his impossible spatial awareness when Dino trips over nothing, knocks over a decorative couch, and brings an entire bookshelf down on where they would have been moments ago in a completely unpredictable act.

Strategy commander her ass, that was some _psychic level bullshit right there._

…. She quietly resolved to walking behind the human shark until she was back to full strength.

Dino made an odd whimpering noise, and they stopped walking all together in morbid curiosity- several teenagers rounded the corner with jeers on their lips, took one look and Rydia and Squalo, promptly shit themselves, and ran away.

"…Is it normal for people here to escape threats by jumping out of windows? At, and I quote, 4 freaking am?"

"VOIIIIII, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

Squalo growled, ignoring her as he kicked Dino in the ribs surprisingly lightly- the Sky groaned as something strained under the force, and rolled onto his back mournfully.

"S-sorry…."

Squalo's scowl deepened at the submissive attitude, huffing and striding away- she would have walked away too, but she wasn't sure if Dino could take another person walking over his throat.

"…You're like that rabbit foot. But in reverse. Good luck when you're lost, bad luck when you aren't."

"…What?"

"…It was a reference, forget it. Why does he hate you so much?"

He grimaced at the blunt question, slowly folding to his feet- she glimpses bruises peeking out from under the full sleeved pajama shirt he's wearing, but its brief.

she and Squalo themselves hadn't properly bothered with their uniforms-Squalo's academy shirt had been thrown over a low necked black t-shirt, paired with jeans scuffed and torn around the knees.

Likewise, she had just flat out forsaken the uniform, just wearing the untucked shirt and low hanging tie over her grey skinny jeans and boots. It wasn't like anyone would dare to dress code them.

Now that he's out of the way, she strides to catch up to Squalo as Dino tags behind.

"Ah, i…. Think it might be because…well, I don't really _want_ anything per-say. He wants to be the Sword Emperor, but I just want a normal life."

She politely didn't mention how flipping stupid his idealistic wants were, instead using her attention to be impressed with how Squalo parted the crowd like a freaking Zamboni. Or was that her?

…Probably both of them.

"So basically, he thinks you're weak and unimpressive."

"…. ouch."

She smirks, and absent mindedly gives Dino brownie points for how he shows enough intelligence to take advantage of their presence, using them as an escort to the Dining area- speaking of which, she isn't sure why she's still caught flat footed by the Academy's extravagance.

It was a wide-open space, with thrown open oak doors that were engraved and towered a good few feet above her head- an entire wall was made of glass, and overlooked the forest that surrounded the mansion.

If it wasn't tinted, she wondered how easily she would be able to blackmail the School designer with sniper risks- there seemed to be a restaurant-esque set up going around, with nervous and stone-faced waiters taking specific orders from kids with guns.

if the menu wasn't your style, they had a full-on gourmet buffet going on.

…She wondered if it had ever been sabotaged, remembered Flavia's existence, and changes her thought to _how_ many times.

Despite that, she still makes a bee-line for the area- it would be good test of Murasaki's limits at taking care of drugs and poison, as well as she really couldn't be bothered to legitimately speak to people.

Apparently Squalo was far from a picky eater, as he follows her with an annoyed glare at everyone around him and a 'VOI' building in the back of his throat- but she's more interested in the pang of homesickness that hits her in the gut as she begins piling together a simple breakfast.

Which is stupid, because the only home she knows is cheap cereal and maybe milk if she has the energy for it. Anything else wasn't real.

Squalo calmly draws his sword, the muscular and cocky male in front of his knocked over plate, and she ignores the sudden tenseness that falls over the room as people began backing away from the pair.

She even elegantly weaves around the abrupt chaos that spills into a food fight filled with blood, more intent on getting a glass of water and a place to sit.

But when someone snaps her nightmare frayed nerves by spilling an entire pitcher of boiling coffee on her?

She is promptly treated to the realization that Squalo matched her Killing Intent in Blood lust, smashing someone's face into shattered porcelain was incredibly satisfying, and that she and the shark made an absolutely horrifying duo of destruction.

10 minutes later, she's standing with a 6-foot Bo staff in her hands and Squalo cursing at it in confusion, because where the ever-living _fuck_ did that come from.

She looks at the carnage around them, begins to realize that her Scholarship funds will be cut for repairs, and thinks that may be Dino's foot peeking out from under the piles of cabbage.

She turns to Squalo, who's busy scanning her for weaponry with narrowed eyes, and picks a piece of egg out of her hair.

"I really need to figure out a way to direct where all this stuff lands. Imagine joining the Varia or something, then walking out of a slaughter covered in food."

"VOIIIII, WHAT THE _FUCK_ ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"

"It's Saturday, and I'm going to go train."

She deadpans, walking away- she nearly face faults when she hears the faintest rustle of him following her sulkily.

"VOIII, STOP GOING WHERE I'M GOING!"

"Oh, my Godric I'm actually going to kill myself before the day is up."

…

Rydia nearly face planted into the ground when her feet caught on themselves, barely saving herself the embarrassment by swiftly turning the action into a _completely_ intentional cartwheel.

Disbelieving, she stands still for a moment, just registering what had happened.

Around her was the sound proofed gymnastic room of the academy- apart from the red-haired twins she had seen trying to kill each other in the dorm; both of who were doing a dangerous monkey routine on the rings; the muted expanse was desolately empty.

She frowned, checking Murasaki with growing paranoia- apart from a hitch in the wavelength that could be attributed to the rehabilitation, nothing seemed wrong.

A sense of unease crept up the base of her spine, and she had the irrational urge to ditch what she was doing.

And it _was_ irrational, because when did she get off put by desolation of all things? She had walked, walked through a plane that whispered of white fog and RuNrUnRuN, and she had done it alone.

The reminder was like a sharp sting, and a haze she hadn't realized was there parted momentarily- she held still, refusing to stagger, and perhaps her silence was more telling than a hiss of weakness.

She blinked, eyes dimming into a flat color that would have made her Lobster flinch- no-longer a wild fire, they could have instead been the dredges of a forgotten beer. Unsteady and hesitant _(she wasn't hesitant, was pride and long strides of flaunted power-)_ she trotted slowly to continue training her flexibility.

…

Squalo's blade whistled, slicing through the air in a line of silver edge he just about caught- several practice dummies splintered under the finely cared for edge, and he rolled on his heels with the motion, turning the momentum that carried him into a seamless flash of movement.

Even as he calmly directed his honed skills into a blurred series of jabs, he watched the others around him from the corner of his eye- they were slow, lagging, and he caught himself amused at their failures- if only they put in as much work as-

He stopped abruptly, and nearly fell over when the shock raveled up his legs, not being dispersed properly- he ignored it, sterling eyes foggy mist as they swept around the room suspiciously.

He never did, and never had, compared himself to others- they were all below him, and to go so far as associating an emotion with the faceless mob left a distaste at the back of his throat.

In the moment of clarity, he wondered at how easily he had left himself defenseless the last night, falling asleep during his work of all things.

His lips curled back into a scowl, but he didn't say anything, reluctantly returning to his practice. It could wait.

 _(He wasn't silent, he would have roared and spit in fury, would have dogged the fog in his mind with the single-minded focus of a storm. He would have turned blade sharp eyes on foggy mist, and cleaved through it in a rush of unstoppable force.)_

He didn't.

…

Dino winced, rubbing at a bruise that had spread up his arm during the snarling chaos that had overtaken the dining area courtesy of idiots that thought challenging Squalo was a good idea.

Around the time he saw Rydia get covered in Coffee (He swears it happened in slow motion, and was honestly just stunned she hadn't received third degree burns-) – He had dived behind a group of students, hoping to avoid most of their combined wrath.

…If he was being honest, he was kind of confused as to why they both hadn't ended up fighting each other, but they had both looked faintly disoriented, so maybe it was just a matter of poor sleeping.

Having said that, as he watched a normally outgoing student blush quietly in the corner of the English class he had chosen to attend, he found himself faintly unnerved.

Everyone around him looked almost dead on their feet, sluggish and confused- very few of the higher tier combatants looked remotely close to alert, the definition of which had dropped from 'Could dodge machine gun fire' to 'Can kick you through the wall, then fall over themselves.'

Awkwardly, he shifted in his seat, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise- it's only when he begins looking around in confusion, that he realizes he had only tripped once today.

Freezing and paling, he snaps his head to stare at his desk nervously, wondering if it was an omen to terrible luck down the line- he wondered if he would be safer hiding with the crowd.

 _(Dino had never used anyone as defense, was too kind to use someone as a distraction- even walking with Rydia as an escort had made him uncomfortable until he considered lagging behind, back to his bullies. Burnt orange flared viciously, struggling to rise above lagging, foggy currents- not strong enough, it succumbed finally.)_

Dino smirked quietly, and decided he didn't quite care about a bunch of mafia prats that picked on the weaker to make themselves feel better.

…

Rydia doesn't know why she's attending the called assembly, knows she has better things to do- but the student body had all migrated to the area, and too faltering to back out of the flow, she had ended up dragged along with the currents.

She's surrounded by unfamiliar bodies, all standing in pinstripe straight lines that shouldn't have been possible with the rowdiness of the mafia- even when Murasaki begins to bubble angrily, she absently silenced her Flames, not wanting to be distracted from the dead eyed, monochrome woman that had walked on stage.

The words that follow float over her head- she catches mentions of another Scholarship, an unheard-of chance, and the record breaking score of 200%.

A frown flits over her face briefly, because that made no sense- the only reason she scored 110% on her own test was because 20% of that grade had been the extra credit Flame theory she wrote; and what she wrote shouldn't have been information known by the general mafia.

Unless the scholarship student was secretly a dimension hopping Byakuran with a copy of the KHR series.

But no, the girl that walked on stage was gorgeous, with kaleidoscopic eyes and silky flaxen hair that rippled down her back in corn silk waves.

She was adorned with various colors, uniform customized what was still acceptable with no reputation to back you up, and carried a vicious Scythe that was…. frankly physically impossible.

She almost snorted at the comical sight, but for some reason caught herself.

After a moment, she realized it was because the girl had opened her mouth to speak, and the wonder at when she had cared was dragged away until it didn't matter.

"Good morning! Please take care of me, my name is Mary Sue!"

She chirped in a melodic voice that made Murasaki positively _screech_ in horror, and the writer in Rydia began to die a violent death; because the Cloud had smiled and begun clapping with the rest of the body.

Never mind the cocktail of Flame Types that should have made her start planning the girl's assassination, Rydia had smiled.

Not for irresistible doggos and the murder of her enemies, but for some random girl with a rack big enough to make her own nearly flat chest wonder how the blonde's spine hadn't snapped.

 _(Murasaki snapped, and tried to tear from its host in vicious writhing masses of rage- around its host, Rains, Storms, Mists, Skies, Lightnings, Suns, and fellow Clouds shrieked in the same sudden dissonance. Eyes turned flatter with the beginnings of Flame rejection, and mindless hands continued clapping.)_

…

Red was good at networking, he really was.

In fact, it was tantamount to his skills that within a few weeks, whispers of Rydia's reputation was already beginning to solidify into something that would interest weaker families- in fact, he had even managed to side step several other informants using street rats, and instead contaminated the word of mouth with several bribes of bread and clothing.

All that aside, there wasn't really much he could do when at some point he gained a posse of rats that followed him around by the tails of his ugly scarf- he sighed, studying the group of shifty eyed children, most younger than him- only one was older, around Rydia's age.

As it was, he was seconds away from chasing them away, when a girl raised her eyes, and framed by muddied and tangled hair, eyes flashed blue.

He stilled, and began walking towards the Difo Famiglia base, seeing if any would be scared away by the prospect- several dropped away reluctantly, but when Kinoko opens her office door to a wide eyed, confused Red and 10 children of varying ages and stages of Flame activation, she thinks that maybe they might want to invest a little more into the Information network.

…

 **(No, the chapter isn't ending here. What this is, is a quick explanation- originally, I had an entire timeline planned out. Then I realized I messed everything up, had to scrap my ENTIRE FUCKING PLOT, and hey, how many of you wanted to see Hibari's again? Because I ain't rebuilding that shit.)**

Hibari Hajime had systematically destroyed all the yakuza in the area when he had found the remains of the turf war, using the action to procrastinate thinking about what would have triggered a Cloud rampage.

The elderly Hibari watched idly as a mutant skylark devoured a weak minded Oyabun, tapping his customized Bo staff like a walking stick as he strode out of the warehouse, external smile of cheer fixed firmly in place, even as he felt the drag of Mist flames that curled lazily in the soundless noise of old age.

It was rare that he ever had to confront himself, and so, almost sulkily, he crushed someone's skull beneath his feet into a smattering of fragments and ruptured veins- there was a hollow space above his sternum, and it ached of evergreen grass that swayed with ozone, of lavender clouds that swirled in thunderous bouts of whimsy.

He wondered how hard his daughter would laugh if she saw him in this state, and promptly round house kicked someone in the face when a stronger ache slammed into his chest, reminding him of carefully suppressed Mist that mirrored his own; a maelstrom of blood lust and conniving smiles behind the easy patience of a predator worth its claws.

 _(Steel eyes and a smile to match his wife's, unbound hair and young feet flying over tatami- the wanderlust that made a young woman stride away with tonfa in her hands and the smirk of a snake on her lips. The vicious glee as she tore down every one of his expectations, grinding them to dust beneath her feet, chasing- no, running, at the flank of another predator; and how could he fault her for the same stubbornness that made him think of blue eyes and hands that handled Japanese tea cups better than her own weapons?)_

Abruptly, he came to the realization there was nothing left for him to kick, and he wondered if his daughter still hit as hard as she used to.

After all, it would be vital information when he showed up on her doorstep uninvited.

…

Hibari Katsu calmly sipped at his green tea in the silence, champagne blonde hair framing his face in straight locks that brushed his angled chin- his skin was a shade between fair beige, eyes slanted and ice blue gaze sharp.

Though his coloring was nearly foreign, there were Asian elements to him as well, marking him of mixed blood- curiously, he was wearing what seemed to be a suit and trench coat, the outfit out of place with how he was sitting in perfect, still seiza.

Opposite him, over the low table, his wife's eye twitched, very faintly. Spiky black hair tied loosely with a dark blue ribbon spilled down her back; eyes a sharp steel that kept flicking around the room- she seemed to make regular attempts on focusing on him, but after a few moments would have her attention snap to the faintest rustle of wind.

She was cladded in a simple, elegant kimono that hugged her figure, yet helpfully hid the defined muscle of her limbs, especially so the tonfa she no doubt had strapped up her sleeves.

Finally, she hisses through her teeth, and slumps sulkily, the easy smile that had been fixed on her face still in place, yet straining noticeably.

"Hn. You made it 4 hours this time, Carnivore."

He noted, voice a smooth velvet that articulated clearly- in response, the ADHD woman frowned, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear.

"Will you fight me now?"

She hedged, lips almost a pout but not quite- if anyone in Namimori were to see the legendarily beautiful Matriach acting as she was, they would probably claim witchcraft, a much more plausible deniability than the; stoic, elegant, and secretively smiling woman; acting in a similar manner to a child negotiating for a toy.

If he were to be honest, the fact she made it two minutes without giving up was impressive enough, considering her condition- as she had managed to sit for four hours without moving, he should have, in all fairness, agreed to the fight.

So, it was no surprise that he looked at her with his best poker face, and said-

"No."

He saw her still, face blanking in response- very calmly, she stood up, kimono flowing around her, and the gleam of steel caught the lights as her tonfa slid into her expert grip.

He fought not to tense, taking another sip of his tea to both hide his almost mischievous smirk, as well as mask the bead of nervous sweat that rolled down the back of his neck.

Before the Mist could kick the table into her chosen mate's face, the sound of a door opening echoed through the fairly large house, followed by a young voice announcing their presence- Hibari Kasumi froze, foot hooked on the table edge, and shot a truly chilling glare at Katsu.

"You timed this,"

She hissed, and the intelligent head of Namimori Police schooled his expression into unreadability; which for him was the equivalent of 'Who, little old me?'

Nevertheless, she reluctantly retrieved her foot, sweeping into the hallway with a slow smile on her lips.

"Okaeri, Kyoya."

She drawled, and the 7-year-old blinked blade edge eyes up at her, before landing a curious gaze on her drawn tonfa- belatedly, she slipped them back into her sleeves as the small child quietly hugged her in greeting after changing into the house slippers.

Her eyes narrowed at the single bruise coloring the skin beneath his eye- behind her, Katsu trotted into the hallway, warily coming up to her side- when she doesn't shatter his knee cap or send illusionary demons after his hide, he calmly reaches down to ruffle the boy's hair lightly.

"Hn. Okaeri."

"How many did you beat up?"

Kasumi deadpanned at Kyoya, to which the child straightened proudly.

"The entire herd."

He confides, and she can hear the vicious smirk in Katsu's voice when he leans forward to catch his child's eyes.

"And what was the reason?"

"Disrupting the peace."

Was the recited response, said as though it was a simple fact, and before anything else can happen, Kasumi tries to slam her tonfa into her husband's stomach- the combat expert dodges, swiftly, backing away- in a sharp movement, Kyoya's taken out mini wooden tonfas, and his mother almost rolls her eyes in amusement.

"Change out of your uniform, Kyoya."

The mini demon of Namimori frowned at that, but reluctantly slunk up the stairs anyways, to the sound of his Otou-san doing his best to redirect his Okaa-san somewhere where she _won't_ destroy everything.

 _(It only takes him a moment to realize his Okaa-san hadn't said he COULDN'T join the fight, and it takes all of his Otou-sans considerable skill to avoid the mini torpedo lashing at his knees like a really feral puppy, while trying to not be decapitated by both illusions and his actual wife. In the end, he ends up having to break out the Cloud Flames. It was that, or die to- when did she IMPLEMENT SPIKES?!)_

* * *

 **(A/N) I'm so done with life and school and I want to cry THE ONLY THING THAT KEEPS ME GOING ARE THE MINI SKETCHES OF RYDIA I KEEP MAKING.**

 **So much notebook paper…. ahem.**

 **All of you, feel free to point out spelling errors and the sort, because i have homework and a quick read through is all i can do right now.**

 **Before we start the Review answers, what's with the lack of enthusiasm guys?**

 **I mean, I know I haven't been…. update…. okay, that's a legitimate reason for not reviewing, BUT I NEED LOVE DAMMIT! ;-;**

 **Review answers!**

 **To;** .927 , TomRiddlesTwin , Jucca , Vaughn Tyler , Etha

Thank you SO MUCH for the love guys, and I'm so sorry for the lack of updates. I'm determined to keep my chapter quota though, and still maintain my grades- thanks if you've stuck around despite that!

 **Oh, and a shout out to Jucca for the continuously long reviews~**


	10. Arc 3- Under Stormy Skies

There were rumors starting to spread of Vongola Nono losing his edge to the passing of time.

Though the word of mouth was the sort to be whispered under the vicious reach of the greatest mafia famiglia in the world, it had still spread, until the people who attended the mafia gala they held were with calculating eyes on the Don and his heirs, risky murmurs breaking out like a rash against the snowy landscape.

It was for that reason, that the old Sky took acute notice of the swordsman that approached his adopted heir on that day, bearing sterling eyes and bared promises that were not projected, but rather kept to themselves; for themselves.

Xanxus, he had known, was a vicious one with a temper to rival the gods themselves- and so when the silverette didn't drift towards his more influential heirs, fixing interest on the supposedly arrogant one that spat and hissed like a scathed cat, the swordsman had quickly become a point of intrigue.

Especially when instead of trying to ineffectually sidle up to the heir like the others before him, he simply stood and watched with the gait of someone trying to figure out if another was worth their time.

After the event, it had barely taken a moment, before the male's information was bought to him- one Squalo Superbia, a prodigious swordsman who had gotten into the most prestigious Mafia Academy on a Scholarship.

Already surpassing everyone in the academy was a feat in within itself, considering the strongest families were the ones to enroll their members- that, was enough to make him idly curious enough to recheck the current activities; for despite the Vongola being an investor, there were more important things to be done with his time.

Of curious note, so far there were 2 extremely strong Flame trackers that had been recorded by the school's system- A Sun and Lightning, though it was likely they were simply the ones that had been unable to hide it.

5 Clouds in total, which made sense- with the Cloud Flame frenzy that had overtaken the Mafia once it was discovered their territorial instincts, Families had taken to either hiding away their Cloud members or inserting them into places of high standing for protection.

From marrying off a Cloud when a family was too weak to protect their own, selling their Cloud's for high prices, and apparently even enrolling them into prestigious Academies, where an open attack would bring the strongest famiglia down on the aggressor's heads; great lengths were being taken.

Apart from the Chiavarone having a Sky in the school, there had been brief mention of a _Hibari_ of all things.

That was enough to make him pause, as he was one of the few old enough to remember when the Clan had been a veracious terror in the Triads and Yakuza, famed for their ruthlessness and bloodlust.

Now though, the Clan had slipped back into the half shadows- whispers remained, of course, of illegal tournaments and dominating champions, of how the Mists had veiled themselves and spread out into the world in a storm of wander lusted warriors.

Even so, apart from a short, dismissive report of the Hibari having matched Squalo in strength, it seemed the ones he had had investigating deemed the clan member inconsequential compared to the pages of information on genuinely influential heirs.

Steepling his fingers, Vongola Nono sighed slowly through his nose, before reaching a decision.

If it had only been Squalo, perhaps he wouldn't have bothered- but if there was the possibility of another student of Hibari origins; from a clan that guaranteed capable fighters; then maybe it was worth offering to enroll Xanxus in the Academy.

The Sky would need guardians, and so far, the swordsman had been the only one who's Flames didn't tear away instantly from his sons Flames of wrath.

 _(And in another world, the offer would never have been thought of. There, began the ascension of a parallel world to a completely separate timeline.)_

…

Examining her long, painted fingernails, she tucked a lock of cornsilk fine hair behind an ear; the mass of which tumbled down her back in cascading waves.

Raising kaleidoscopic eyes, she smiled warmly at herself in the mirror- a pause, and she tilted her head just so, exposing a sliver of her neck and making her hair fall into her face.

She blinks, and her entire form distorts- a moment, and she's back to being a soft featured, gorgeous girl with warmth seeping from her pores.

The smile drops, and her eyes fall to half mast, annoyance marking the crease between her brows.

The expressions still seemed too stiff.

Sighing, Mary Sue stood from her place in front of the vanity- of course, she had an entire dorm room to herself.

Otherwise, she would have had to start hiding bodies in the walls again.

Stretching lazily, she swiped a small, flimsy looking knife from the table top, tucking it into the waist band of her skirt even as she straightened her shirt to hide it- striding forward, heeled boots clicking the ground as she walked, she swung her decorative scythe from its stand against the wall; a flicker of Mist had the cardboard edges gleaming metal under the lights.

She pulled open the door, a gentle, fixed curve to her glossed lips, and nearly tripped over herself when she was greeted to the sight going on in the hallway.

As it was, she simply froze incredibly conspicuously, and watched as a dark-skinned Cloud kicked a girl in the face hard enough she _heard_ the cheekbones splinter.

The tall girl leaned backwards slightly, pose provocative, chin tilted down and eyes darkened under her brows- misaligned lips were twisted into the impression of a scowl, and Mary had half a mind to calmly step back into her room and shut the door.

Because, contrary to everyone around her, her eyes were a bit too clear- Cloud Flames writhed within her, and the blonde carefully shifted her weight.

The Cloud Flames froze in place, and the Cloud faltered, confusion in her stance as her legs nearly buckled.

Mary frowned, and belatedly realized how large the…. Indian's? Italian's? reserves were, to the point she was surprised they were still accessible.

It was rather crippling, if she were to be honest.

Upping the dosage of the Mist Flames that saturated the air, she silently commanded them to remain as a miasma around the Cloud, and relaxed when the girl's eyes glazed over faintly, and her Cloud Flames once again began to shriek in asynchrony.

But still….

She hesitated, before making up her mind, a cheery smile on her face- bounding up to the Cloud, she grinned.

"Hi! My name's Mary Sue, and you are?"

For a moment, she thought the Cloud wouldn't answer, and got ready to slit the girls throat with her blade- if she could still resist, then she was a threat to the mission, and with the amount of Mist Flames seeping into her lungs, she shouldn't be able to react in time.

"…. Rydia Hibari."

She claims finally, and the girl relaxes- there's a fearsome curl to her unwilling partners lips; sculpted features made to be intimidating.

"Could you show me to the cafeteria? I don't know my way around yet."

It wasn't a request.

The Cloud- Rydia- stiffens as she attempts to follow the order, her Flames ripping violently in a gale that was honestly terrifying- for once, there was will.

Blood trickles from between her lips, and she doesn't say anything as she nods shortly, mechanically beginning to lead the new student towards the cafeteria.

It doesn't matter that Rydia wasn't confrontational, that she wouldn't have picked a fight with random girls, it doesn't even matter that she was supposed to be training.

The girl following her hums a cheery tune with a sardonic undertone, and the trickle begins to thicken.

Mary smiled, and decided she quite liked the idea of having a Cloud bodyguard.

…

He was annoyed.

He ignored everyone as he walked, stride prowling and unforgiving- something had his hackles risen to full attention, so he scarcely paid attention to the students that fled from his path in bouts of piercing self-preservation instinct.

They congregated behind him in ripples of murmurs, and he was half interested to see if any would leap to challenge him- but strangely, none did, and he wondered distastefully how he had gotten stuck with the weaklings.

He turned the corner, and strides past a pair of students- despite his indifference, he gets the fleeting urge to look back at the figure of blonde hair and kaleidoscopic eyes, but it's gone before its properly registered, so he continues without a backward glance; his glower parted everyone from his path.

Mary froze in the middle of the hallway, and whirled around- the student who had ignored her is still making his way down the hallway.

Having been making her way towards the cafeteria, chattering lightly at the Cloud beside her, she had been understandably caught off guard to take note of someone in complete control of their Flames.

She uses sharp eyes to take in the spiky black hair, cut into a crew cut- blood red feathers and what seems to be an animal tail of sorts had been braided into a longer lock of hair, and falls from the nape of his neck over a shoulder.

She flares her Mist Flames, but he doesn't stop walking- a moment, and in her growing confusion, she attempts to track his Flames.

 _(Scarlet rage and howdareyou, ripping tendrils that sting rather than attract, a miasma that ripples around him like a heady cloak of hissing spits- the suffocating RiPrIpPierce that slices through everything around him. Unforgiving currents and dismissive darkness that doesn't bother to shy from the light, instead a worn armor- the hateHaTeHaTeHATE that would tear any Guardians and bonds to pieces.)_

She retches, falling to her knees as blood flies from her lips- though her control flickers, the students still flock to help her up.

And would have too.

Instead, her head is slammed into the ground, and the impact is enough to temporarily stun her- when she comes to, she realizes the side of her head is under a boot, and the Cloud has crouched to stare at her with lilac eyes.

The Flicker had given the girl too much leeway, and _stupid stupid stupid,_ She should have slit her neck-

Rydia wipes away the blood from her lips with the back of her hand, not breaking eye contact- then, abruptly, she leans in, and whispers, ever so soft.

"How pathetic."

The boot crushes her head harder into the ground as they push to their feet and walk away, dismissive and cold.

Mary's eyes widen as she lifts herself slightly- a numbness says a bruise is starting to spread down the side of her face, but her eyes are locked on the back of the Cloud.

Theres a waver to the girls stride; a tell tale that she was still weakened.

If she had said anything else, a pulse of Mist would have had the students lunging at Rydia in a bloodbath of death and overwhelming crowds.

If she had said anything else, a pulse of Mist would have made Rydia snap her own neck.

Instead, she's numb to the hands that fret over her, trying to help her up with adoring eyes- all she can see are _(Harsh, calloused hands, and oh, aren't you such a PrEtTy ChIlD? Knives and you'retooweak, hands around her windpipe and monsters that watch her from the mirrors, monsters that remind her how BlEsSeD she is to have the face she does, Disfigured soldiers that couldn't meet the standards she set as such a BeAuTiFuL DoLl- Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, and god, you're so PAtHeTic-)_

She struggles to her feet, hair falling in a curtain around her _(DeAdDeAdDeAd)_ eyes, and _Why didn't he look? She was PrEtTy, wasn't she?_

 _(Be perfect, perfect, perfect, and oh how BlEsSeD you are to have so many Flames, and such a PrEtTy Face! And so SmArt and BeAuTiFuL She was their FaVoRiTe DoLl)_

…The mission had been compromised.

She stares silently, and her mask abruptly clicks into place- a warm smile, a gentle laugh, and agreements on how cruel the cloud had been- she allows them to escort the poor, weak, delicate princess of a doll to the infirmary, and makes connections so easily with a gorgeous smile and implication of their own beauty.

But the master was always right.

She recalls _(Stormy Sky that blends so easily into the russet red dawn)._

The target had arrived, just how the master had said he would.

The master was always right.

…

Rydia barely made it around the corner before she manages to stumble into a hopefully abandoned classroom- she hits the desk edge with both hands, and tries to focus on her breathing for a few moments, because what the ever-loving _hell was even happening anymore._

She had gotten into this School so she would have a safeguard until she was strong enough to watch her own back, front and center.

 _She hadn't been counting on a tactician and Flame user on par with flipping Gokudera._

Because that's exactly what 'Mary Sue' was- She hadn't picked up on the Mist Flames that had seeped into her system, and would never have if not for the dissonance that had occurred moments ago, and she still didn't know what had triggered it.

And that was only accounting for the Mist Flames.

The girl had a bloody _cocktail_ of Flame types, granted none of them were as strong as her primary- even so, the fact that the girls weakest flame was a Sky flicker barely strong enough to light a candle, made it all the more baffling.

It would explain things though, if she had laced her Mist Flames with the little Sky she controlled- if so, the Misty Sky Flames would be actively attracting and tangling around peoples Flames, with the Mist element acting as a euphoric type of drug.

It had the backlash of inversing Flame Natures, though that could have been intentional if she had purposely injected a module of Storm Flames to throw everyone off balance- Rydia had been the most badly affected because of how her first action with her own Flames had been to suppress them.

…. And all that discounted what she could do with her Sun, Lightning, Rain, and Cloud natures.

All in all, a terrifying tactician who had managed to get into a School under supervision of _Vongola,_ and Rydia was kind of regretting how she had blurted out an insult, because now she was probably on the girls hitlist.

…. She just wanted to get a retail job.

Groaning, she slammed her head into the table.

"VOIIII, you done with your shitty existential crisis yet?"

A voice growled, and it's tantamount to how off balance she already is, that she actually manages to ram her elbow into the table and nearly get whiplash in her attempt at snapping her head up to look in the direction of the noise.

Scowling, _it was not a sulk,_ she rubbed mournfully at the developing bruise- Squalo was watching her irritably from a corner of the class, hair messed up and book in his hands- in her expert opinion, she would bet he had fallen asleep with it on top of his face.

…. She had been the victim of that many a time.

"Screw off, I just realized how annoying everything is."

She groaned, and dropped to the floor, body tilted in his general direction.

A pause, before she thinks to question his being here.

His answer is a dark glare, and a pen thrown like a javelin.

Her eye twitched, and she forcefully didn't look at the strands of hair that had been sliced with the attack- instead, she cast an overview of his Flames, and was surprised to see his reserves clear of Mary Sue's taint.

In fact, it almost seemed as though his Flames actively knew to fight against the pull; the flicker having given it enough traction to purge itself clean; Almost akin to an immune system.

…. Interesting.

Unfortunately, she hadn't just swept over his Flame nature, and she had quite a range on her tracking abilities- as such, she made an odd squawking noise when assaulted by sheer _(Blood red hate and the slash of an executioner's axe, the roaring rage that makes Murasaki bleed with bloodlust unlike her killing intent-)_

She abruptly cut off her Spidey senses, and stared with slightly widened eyes at Squalo, suddenly realizing he was able to track Flames to a certain extent as well.

"Exactly."

He scowls grumpily, and drops the book over his face again- there actually are dark circles under his eyes; probably as a side effect of the few days spent under Mary's control; though she's curious as to why he would be _avoiding_ Xanxus.

Because really, Rydia was only mildly delusional, and it was a bit hard to mistake the _Flames of fairy flipping Wrath._

"I thought your Flames would be all over the apparent douche, since you are one."

Was her flat attempt at a snarky probe, and once again she ignores the new pen embedded in the wall behind her head, and how her fringe is now decidedly uneven.

"VOIIIIII! GO FUCK A CACTUS YOU SHITTY CLOUD, I AM NOT DEALING WITH ANY SHIT TODAY!"

He spits, enraged, and she doesn't realize how glad she is to have him back to screaming at full volume until she wants to rip his tongue out and shove it somewhere uncomfortable.

That being said….

"Same bro,"

She says sympathetically, and gets up to start making a pillow fort out of the fancy ass cushions on all the stacked chairs in the class.

He watches her in disbelief as she promptly curls up in an attempt to pass out.

There's a high chance he's wondering what type of hitwoman _sleeps in a fucking pillow fort when there's a possible enemy in the room,_ but she's quite happy to pin him as jealous he hadn't thought of the idea first.

There's an audible smack as he palms himself in the face.

"Fucking idiot."

He hisses, but the rest of the first 3 classes pass in relative silence, and only one attempt at spontaneous murder.

And that one was more akin to a love tap delivered with a 10 ton hammer, because apparently Rydia thrashes around a lot when she has nightmares, and Squalo did _not_ appreciate having a pillow flung into his gut.

 _(And its so easy for Rydia to snap back to form, because none of this was real, obviously. And she would rather sleep the days away than think about how Mary's eyes had been too stunned, too half crazed, to have been a 2D illustration.)_

...

Its around half way into the fourth hour of both Squalo and Rydia trying to catch up on lost sleep, When Dino bursts into the room, desperate- hes greeted to the sight of how the two slackers dealt with being awoken suddenly.

Namely, Rydia snapped her eyes open and was in a combat crouch before he could blink- her free hand had slung the nearest object at him, and so hes hit in the face by a table that throws him to the ground.

Which was actually good, since Squalo immediately sent a slash of blade sharp air at where his head had been moments ago; sword gleaming and chair on the ground behind him.

A moment of silence as they realized how badly they had overreacted, and how Dino's Flames were strangely clear of Mist Flames (Was it bad she was assuming Squalo already knew about Mary?) – Apparently Dino himself doesn't seem to have picked up on anything that had been happening, since he scrambles out from under the chair.

"They hired a mafia tutor!"

He shrieks, horrified and every movement pleading for some sort of divine help- Squalo's eye twitched, and he began yelling something at Dino, whereas Rydia just muttered a 'Finally' and dropped back into her nest of pillows.

Needless to say, Dino ended up sulking sadly in a corner of the room.

…

A few more hours, and it's become evident none of them want to attend class, and that Squalo wasn't training because apparently sword maintenance had taken up all the shits he gave.

The sound of his sharpening it filled the room, and Rydia was starting to toe the dangerous line of stupid and insane.

…. Or extremely bored.

Squalo was tempted to watch through his fingers as she plodded the length of the room like a curious Labrador, sending concerning glances at the windows every so often.

"Have you ever wanted to jump out of a window?"

She asks abruptly, and Squalo does put his head in his hands.

" _NO."_

He snaps, and there's a moment of silence, before the sound of glass breaking shatters the atmosphere.

Disbelieving, he raises his head.

"VOIIIII, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU JUMP THROUGH IT CLOSED?!"

…

Morbidly curious, he stared out of the window, down the _six-story drop,_ and was greeted with the Cloud casually doing stretches in the bed of broken glass.

Squalo comes to the revelation that Rydia's stupidity is a crime against humanity, and swings himself out of the window after her- he turns it into an overhead strike, unsheathing his sword at maximum momentum.

She has to roll out of the way as he carves the ground where she had been, wrenching and shattering the dirt- he twists midair, and without touching down, backflips to his feet.

Rydia brings her staff down on his blade, eyes and grin manic with the idea of a proper fight, despite her having said she wanted nothing to do with him.

He examines her sleep deprived eyes, realizing she needs to vent- that's till does not excuse her sheer stupidity, so he tries to carve her heart out.

"VOIIIIIIIII, ILL FUCKING MURDER YOU!"

"Expand your vocabulary; it's getting staler than your bloodlust!"

A leg lashed out, and he took a blow to the side even as his blade whistled a line of blood from under her eye.

"FUCK OFF!"

"GODRIC, YOU CANT EVEN BANTER RIGHT!"

"THE FUCK WOULD I BANTER?!"

Slam, dodge the spikes erupting from the ground, slash her thigh and be glanced by an elbow that would have taken his neck.

"BECAUSE YOU JUST HAVE TO, DAMNIT! IT'S A THING THAT'S JUST DONE!"

Squalo ignores her, and her eyes narrow as they both fall into silent, heated flurries of combat.

 _(Maybe, Xanxus thinks, this entire school isn't so hopeless after all. Red eyes track the duos fight with detached interest, blood splattered boots grinding a student's head into the ground. Weaklings didn't belong in the Mafia.)_

 _…_

Nana smiled warmly at the Hibari Matriach as she opened the door to her- despite this, Kasumi still caught the almost reflexive twitching of the woman's fingers.

Ignoring it, she simply smiled gracefully and swept into the house- Nana plodded after her with cheerful, carefully absent-minded chirps of how she hoped Tsunayoshi would do well in kindergarten, and oh, would you like some tea?

Moments, and the grey eyed Mist is watching the brown haired one across from her over the steam of green tea- She was far from a Flame tracker, but…

"Mou, I'm so happy to see you visit us!"

She beamed.

 _No-one saw you enter, and you chose a time when the house was empty._

Kasumi's eyes curved into a smile eerily reminiscent of her father.

"Well of course. Namimori is under protection of the Hibari, and you are a rather new resident. Have you been fitting in well?"

 _I found the hitmen sent after you, and though I dealt with them, this kind of security risk shall not be tolerated._

"Mmmhmm! The neighbors are so friendly; I feel really welcome!"

 _Are you trying to say you can't handle them?_

"Is that so? And what of your husband?"

 _I'm saying I shouldn't have to. Namimori is a place for the retired descendants of Mafioso and the sort, and your husband is disrupting the peace._

"Ah! He calls when he can, but he's on such a long business trip…. He barely finds the time to visit, to be honest with you."

She sighed longingly, and tucks her long brown hair over a shoulder- the top the woman wears is lower in the back, and the action pointedly reveals the faded tattoo of a dragon that peeks out.

 _He hasn't been here long enough for the hitmen to be from the mafia, and you know it._

"I do hope your managing alright with Tsunayoshi."

 _And what of your child?_

"Mah, he's making a lot of friends! Just like his father!"

 _Namimori is a place for the descendants of those who retired, and you know Tsunayoshi-kun's lineage. Your own husband is guilty of it, and so is your child._

Kasumi rose the cup of tea to her lips, and was pleasantly surprised to taste no poison hidden in the bitter depths.

"I would hope he makes friends…. he seems rather…. quiet."

 _Do you plan on teaching him to protect himself?_

"Mou, He'll grow out of it! I'm sure he will!"

 _I will not drag him into that life._

"He _is_ your husband's son I suppose."

 _You don't have a choice, marrying a member of the mafia- a Sky, no less._

"Mm! But what about Kyoya? Mou, we really need to catch up!"

 _You said this place is under protection of the Hibari. We've known each other this long Kasumi, can't you do something?_

"Kyoya takes after his father to a worrying degree. And yes, we do- maybe later, however."

 _Kyoya will be taking charge of the overworld protection, and perhaps I can delay it._

She smiles warmly at the Matriach, a note of relief in doe brown eyes that had once been full of the rebellion of the local Yakuza.

They had history, and Kasumi was smart enough to keep it under wraps.

"Mah, I don't suppose we could set up a playdate for Kyoya-kun and my little tuna-fish?"

 _I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but how strong is your son as a Cloud….?_

"Kyoya would eat him alive."

Was the deadpan response, and Nana laughed.

 _Too strong for your son._

What followed were idle pleasantries, before the Matriach excused herself- it would not do well for people to take notice of her closeness with the resident 'empty headed housewife'. Not only did she have a reputation, but she would rather not bring Nanas façade into question.

…. The woman deserved peace for as long as it would last.

 _(And Mists were terrifyingly fragile- to be distanced from her Sky for so long…. Sawada Iemtisu was truly a fool.)_

…

 **Location: Undisclosed, 18:00.**

It was always dark.

A red light blinked, on and off, on and off, on and off, and it was what his eyes had latched onto with a terrifying intensity.

The light was too dim and too small to make headway into the shadows.

Cloth rustled, and a chair creaked, a torturous groan to pierce the silence- he blinks, slowly, and his scars drag at the lids in a weight like sand.

A white light blinked on, once.

It blinked at 10-minute intervals.

He allowed his eyes to slide closed; his breathing sounded too loud.

Machinery whirred softly as it begun to start up, but still nothing changed except for the gentle click of an AC activating- he thinks he hears whispers in the darkness.

He listens, and he listens until he thinks there's breath at his ears, murmurs filling his lungs with the impossible smell of apple cider and wood smoke.

He feels long hair running through his fingers, and he claws at the empty air- no, he's running his hands through long, untangled hair.

He dares not open his eyes.

The smell of wood smoke grows stronger, and then the laughter begins to make itself known- still, the breaths are at his ear, and he desperately reaches to hear something, anything, a divine _direction-_

And he hears.

Tears of joy slide down his face, and the laughter makes itself known- he hears the clinking of bangles as _they_ dance, he hears the tinkling of wine glasses as _they_ drink, he hears the crunching of fruit as _they_ feast, he hears the-

He hears them starting to fade, and he cries out for the old gods he knows are there, he cries out until his fisting his hands in the hair, begging them not to leave him alone to the darkness.

The hair turns rough and greasy in his hands, and the strands tangle around his fists- skeletal hands tighten around his throat, and he seizures in an attempt to plead.

The breaths at his ears grow more fervent, and he hears them hissing, spitting at him- he has displeased them.

He cries. And the wood smoke turns to the smell of flesh burning, the apple cider to that of bodily fluids.

He cries, and it's a tortured sob of sheer agony- because he was not _worthy_ of their unrelenting perfection, he isn't worthy.

He had been, once.

He had been a _god_ once, he had been more powerful than _any man_ before- then, the Vongola had come, and they had come with their heirs and their weapons, they had come with their vigilante turned mafia, they had come with their high tier illusionists.

He still remembers the tale of the man with the spade in his eye, and _how dare they?_

How _dare_ they bring forth an illusionist that had been prided as the most powerful, more powerful than _him?_

How _dare_ they revel in their glory when their power was falling, when the heads of their serpents were old and blind?

The skeletal hands have tightened, and he dares to open his eyes, wide and pleading for proof that he was still worthy, was still _perfect-_

He sees a single red pupil, and a single white pupil, and he screams because he sees the spade, and _had they forsaken him for-_

The red light blinked.

The white light blinked on at 10-minute intervals.

And he screamed.

He's still screaming when the door is finally creaked open, when hesitant murmurs try and wake him from his living nightmare- the murmurs turn fearful, and finally one dares to brush against him, hoping to rouse him.

 _"_ _Master- "_

His hands snap up, and tightens around their face- he sees brilliant blue eyes with pupils dilated in sheer terror, and they _should be grateful for how beautiful they were-_

The illusion practices were harsher that day.

* * *

 **(A/N) (Anyone interested in submitting OC's for the story, skip to the last bracket.)**

 **HA, BET YA THOUGHT MARY SUE WAS A PARODY CHARACTER!**

 **…** **.none of you thought that….well,** ** _I_** **think I'm funny. But no joke, this chapter took me absolute** ** _ages_** **to get out, mainly because I scrapped a lot of chapters since I was unhappy with them.**

 **Let me know if you guys want me to create another fic full of the scrapped ideas and unfinished one shots- that way, you'd get a few glimpses of TimeLess while an actual chapter is being pumped out, and you could choose what one shots you'd like me to continue.**

 **By the way, I've got a Deviant account i upload fanart of this fic on, which is...basically...my art...since RYDIA HAS TAKEN OVER MY LIFE AND NOW SHES MY GO TO MUSE- ahem. here ya go-** **thesecretaryofsatan . deviantart . com**

 **Anyways, I've got a fic recommendation for you guys! Its actually my favorite KHR fic currently out there, sooo…**

 _Under a Clouded Blue, by TheMidgetTitanSlayer_

 **ON TO THE REVIEWS!**

 **To;** Lord Kirkleton

 ***Grins* I'm glad you like the story so far, and don't worry- any character I introduce is unlikely to be put in just to be made fun of~**

 **To;** alexa-chan me, Etha, ADDBaby, YomuHime-

 **Well, trust me, you're going to be seeing A LOT of the Hibari's- thanks for understanding about the uploading schedule!**

 **To;** Jucca-

 **Long reviews are life- but I'm glad you're invested in the plot!**

 **To;** Ashalenn-

 **I'm going to be honest, this was the first review I got, and** ** _it made me so happy to see how long it was._** **Thanks for going through the trouble of writing so much!**

(Okay, about the OC'S- basically, I thought it would be fun to include a few of your guys OC's in the background blender of characters, as I have a bad habit of describing characters that barely get screen time. Its too big to remove from my writing style, so I decided I'd work around it- Just small moments and glimpses of your Characters reacting to the school life around them, because personally, i would read the shit out of a fic that glimpsed all of Tsuna's class. Thanks!)


	11. Under Stormy Skies, Part 2

Rydia exhaled, and her chest fell slowly with the steady release of air.

Sweat dried on her skin uncomfortably, and she could feel a numb sting where several of her cuts had begun to clot- she was on her back in the emerald grass, eyes transfixed with a half-lidded purpose on the azure heavens. Beside her, she was aware that Squalo was much in the same position, although turned onto his side instead- his blade was lying a few inches away in the thick, long grass, but he didn't seem very concerned about immediately retrieving it.

Her Bo staff lay in bloodied splinters, though she still had a miniature one held lax between her fingers.

"You do know about Mary Sue, right?"

"VOIIIIII, WHO THE _FUCK_ DO YOU THINK I AM?!"

"An asshole with volume issues, a shark that- "

"VOIIIIIII, SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I RIP YOUR THROAT OUT!"

He spits, and she sighs, silence falling between them- at last, she sits up slowly, grimacing at the ache in her…everything, really.

"How fast do you think I can kill her?"

"ARE YOU AN ACTUAL IDIOT?! The fuck makes you think she's working alone?"

"I know she's not working alone asshole, but I don't really care about the puppet master- "

"-You don't care about someone with hidden objectives?"

He completes for her, sitting up to glare holes into the side of her head.

"No, I don't, because I damn well know what my own are. Slice the puppets strings, and if the master is stupid enough to come after me, _then_ is when I act- they may end up being useful in the future, after all."

His eyes narrowed at that.

"You _don't_ give someone you don't trust your back."

He says coolly, to which she turns to meet his gaze with bared teeth.

"Oh, trust me honey, they aren't getting anywhere _near_ my back- that, good sir, is firmly against a wall."

A moment in which they study each other, before he scowls and pushes to his feet, annoyed.

"VOIIII, IM HARDLY GOING TO BE WORKING WITH YOU ANYWAYS!"

He spits annoyed, and she immediately straightens in alarm.

"Oi, you walk away and we'll do a lot more than get in each other's way- my pride stick isn't far enough up my ass for me not to realize that."

"WHY THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL WOULD I HELP YOU? ILL RIP YOU APART IF YOU GET IN MY WAY!"

"You're actually an unreasonable piece of shit, _oh my Godric._ What even is your plan? Wait for her to accomplish her objective then track her down like some shitty fanfiction written by some weird hobo living in a blanket mound?"

"VOIII, THE FUCK IS THAT ANALOGY?! AND WHY THE FUCK WOULD I LET HER ACCOMPLISH HER OBJECTIVE YOU DEAD BEAT TURNIP! _JUST HOW STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM?!_ "

She stills, and- _("You shitty binporu!")_

"…. I'm afraid I didn't _QUITE_ hear _what_ you called me shark chum."

" _You shitty fucking TURNIP."_

Very calmly, she stands, and completely ignores the ominous falter as a tired out Murasaki reluctantly began to circulate again- the nickname rung through her head repeatedly, and she clashed an enraged stare with a similar sterling one, blood boiling as Murasaki began to swirl faster and faster until the heat made her muscles twitch with the need to move, sweat beading and sliding down her neck.

On some level, she doesn't know why she had been so _set off-_ perhaps Mary Sue's influence hadn't completely faded, maybe she was just so _freaking tired of intelligent eyed assholes naming her after weird plants._

 _(Violet pulsed in raw grief, and Will surged in offense until it was a hazy cloud that spoke of blood stained hands and suppressed memories.)_

Squalo on the other hand, was more interested in how _low_ she thought his skills were- the offense ran deep, because she had recognized his own skill league without the need of communication, and that had been enough to give her an inkling of his respect- but just how _fucking high was she on her own supposed superiority, that she naturally fell to assumption that everyone else was incapable of having different and more effective approaches?_

 _(Cerulean crowed in visceral offense, and Will surged until the rain pounded a war drums beat, one that demanded its natural place at the apex of a storm, intent fixed on never enough and wounded pride that demanded to be restored.)_

Cognac eyes were dyed a bloody, wine drenched shade of purple, one that almost made the brown sugar skin under them appear the ashen dark of approaching death.

Sterling eyes, normally a striking hue that spoke of careful self-control and direction, bled teal bright cerulean that cast an aquamarine glow over his cheekbones.

The killing intent was tangible- or was it bloodlust? The two were match for match, until the white noise and mindless pressure bore down unheedingly on the academy, the majority of which were hyperventilating.

Xanxus watched unreadably, studying the haze of Flames that picked up around their forms in unsheathed fangs- it wasn't the pigmented shade of an intimidation tactic, wasn't the gravity challenging clash of wills.

Their reserves were just so close to overflowing with unused Flame, that they were leaking it as a freaking subconscious instinct, a kettle letting out steam before it blew- except more steam kept building.

He almost didn't see it when they moved.

But the silver haired figure had drawn their sword first, and he didn't even _know_ where the others staff had come from, but the first swing of the blade is enough to easily shear through the wood.

Immediately, Rydia was on the defensive, but that didn't last long, because _damn it all to SpongeBob hell if she was afraid of getting hurt, of dying._

The old man had said it himself- she was a _berserker,_ she was _meant_ to be a reactive, storm of wounds and festering rage- Squalo could have his proactive, planning and strategic attacks.

But she had felt glass rip her throat, had felt her stomach be split open, had felt the skin _flaying from her body in the heat-_

She laughs, an insane, half choked and breathy sound that shrieks in the sound of his sword parting the air as she just barely dances from the blurred blade.

Why, indeed, did she run from the needle prick of a blade?

Somewhere, she was aware that she was being reckless.

She moves, ducking under his blade- an elbow grazes his side as he spins away, sword arcing towards the back of her neck.

She doesn't avoid it.

Pushing forward, still in line of his attack, she forces the maelstrom of purple around her into the ground- it erupts into spikes, several crumbling from the initial infusion, but soon they're ricocheting off the deadly battlefield in an attempt not to be impaled.

Squalo hissed through his teeth as the crazed cloud turns the battlefield into a spiked mess- her flames are still going at the singular command, and so the terrain is ever shifting.

An unpredictable wall of dirt throws itself in way of one of his overhead strikes, and he notes sharply that she still doesn't have enough control to turn this to her advantage, so it ends up blocking her own attack as well.

They both, unaware of the others actions, simultaneously kick off the spike at the last moment, and wall run around the side- they end up clashing immediately, his blade nearly taking her eye before she gets her hands around the base of the blade, halting it.

For a moment, they hang in space- her blood is dripping down his hilt, making his grip on the sword slick, and he realizes he needs to invest in gloves.

Then, gravity takes hold, and she turns her body towards him as she pulls at the sword- his grip already compromised, its flung from his hands, and it's all he can do to get her in a chokehold.

Free falling towards the still spike riddled ground, the Cloud Flames abruptly return in a swell towards her- he glimpses gnashed teeth and a visceral, canine grin widened by misaligned lips, before she's gotten a hand on his wrist and another on his elbow.

She throws her body weight to the side, and he's mildly aware of how _fast_ they must be doing this, that they haven't hit the ground yet- her tucked in chin doesn't allow him an easy hold, but it gives her the perfect opportunity to ram a cloud flame enhanced elbow into his stomach.

He folds over reflexively to lessen damage, and is greeted with a ram to the chin- he's forced to let go lest he give her more chances; throwing himself backward as she throws herself forward.

They both hit the ground rolling, and come up in vastly different stances, him with a lowered center of gravity, legs apart, her in some sort of weird combat crouch.

There's no pause to get back the breath stolen from the free fall, no pause to reorient themselves- she flings herself forward from her fingers, ankles propelling her with terrifying speed, and he keeps one foot in place as he swings out of her direction.

She makes a hairpin turn back into him, turning the motion swiftly into a relentless series of double round house kicks- he blocks with his forearms, absorbing and ducking around her steel toed work boots, eyes locking onto his sword, of which was embedded halfway to its blade in a pillar of dirt.

Fresh anger flares, and he throws down his offense to snap out a viper fast arm, pinning one of her legs between his elbow and flank in a vice.

Before she can react, he throws a vicious elbow into her already bruised throat, and as she reactively folds over, cracks one down on her spine as he releases her leg- she's thrown nearly face first into the ground, and he knows the Rain Flames in the two strikes would notably slow her down.

He sprints towards the weapon, and closes his grip around the hilt, yanking it out with ease- eyes fixed on her calculatingly, he once again assures that his overview of the no-longer shifting battlefield was correct.

He rips the hem of his already ruined t-shirt, wrapping it around his hands for reliable friction, and runs his Rain flames through his body to slightly numb some of the aches, not enough to be dangerous, yet making it difficult for the dirty fighter of a cloud to take advantages of any obvious wounds.

Then, she's barreling towards him, body low to the ground and path zig zagging unpredictably in bounding leaps- his blade flashes and blood sprayed.

He cursed, having expected her to dodge, and so is unprepared for the fist that hits him in the gut- he folds over it intentionally, and lets himself be thrown with the punch, absorbing and lessening the force.

Rydia pressed a hand to her face to lessen the bleeding, before scowling and simply flinging as much of it out of her eyes as possible- Squalo was using his Flames to keep his head clear and calm despite his snarling exterior, but all Murasaki did for her was increase her blood lust.

 ** _Lash of the Whirlwind,_** she thinks, and it's enough to ground her momentarily, bringing to mind the katas that she had been forced to learn- she had never bothered with the other combo attacks though she knew them, simply because they didn't belong to her. There was a fine line between inheriting a style and mirroring it.

A moment, and she's meeting Squalo's blade with another staff- it bites into the wood, and she turns it swiftly away from her body in deflection before it can once again shear through it.

Squalo is much more competent than Okuri however, and turns away each strike of her staff and legs with relative ease- she increases and falters her speed more frequently, and she begins to force him backward.

She takes it as a weakness.

His bared teeth say otherwise.

He ducks abruptly, and the staff connects with a spire of dirt- it groans, and her eyes widen.

She hisses through her teeth as she's forced to give ground in evasion, the unstable dirt crumbling in an explosion of dirt and cloudy air.

She stifles her coughs, and reflexively dips onto her Flame Wavelength in an attempt to sense and lock onto his location- she's hit by _(Flaring aquamarine and drowning rain, clear targets and cocked guns-)_

The sudden intensity is enough to throw her balance, and anger surfaces as she stumbled, grimly realizing that Squalo could track Flames as well.

Squalo's eyes narrow when his blade shears through air with a neat _shwip,_ noting with mild disbelief that she had still managed to dodge despite him knowing how painful it was to have your senses suddenly overloaded with information.

The dirt cloud still hasn't settled though, and the strategist gets in two slashes, before she manages to break his arm, and once again hit him in the gut, confirming organ damage and bruising.

They weren't the only ones involved in the fiasco however, and several classes had been halted when the students became remarkably more interested in the two fighters beating the shit out of each other rather than their education.

"Are they still fighting?"

A cerulean haired girl asked in sheer confusion, ruffling the long locks with a hand- she was nearly drowning in her baggy clothes, and the creepiest resident Mist, Flavia, simply shrugged helplessly.

"Their battle auras are _monstrous."_

She admits, and the Cloud who had spoken first, one Leilene, stared blankly at her with green specked hazel eyes.

"I didn't ask that."

She deadpanned, and a Lightning beside her whooped out a laugh as she held up a score card marked with the number 10 in thick black sharpie.

"DAMN! Squalo just got drop kicked, and that _air time_ though!"

Leilene wondered blankly where the ever loving _fuck_ the Lightning, Jersules, had gotten the score card from, and why everyone but her had hammer space.

Jersules leaned heavily on her umbrella as she tilted forward, nose nearly flattened against the glass in an attempt to make out more of the fight- Flavia sighed, and went back to designing spiders with another mute mist who had permanently annoyed brown eyes.

Its tantamount to how long Squalo and Rydia had been fighting for, that they only begin to slow down at the 10-minute mark, the intensity of the battle finally wearing at them- another 3 minutes, and Rydia's legs buckle in time for the sword to whistle over her head.

At this point however, her will had faltered and died into a pride fueled spit of grief, and so she simply allows herself to fall into a combat roll with very little momentum- she's still close enough to Squalo to bowl him over.

"VOIIIII, GET THE FUCK UP!"

He rages, and is on his feet and swinging even before he hits the ground.

Her response is to roll onto her back, uncaring of the ground carved apart a literal centimeter beside her head as she squints up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Just because you told me to, _No._ I don't know why the frik _you're_ pissed though- I never called you a flipping turnip."

How does one explain wounded pride?

According to Squalo, it was by trying to kill the person who questioned it.

"Is this because I compared your strategies to a shitty fanfiction? Because I'm hardly sorry."

This time, she does a halfhearted backflip out of the swords path, and splays out like a dead starfish.

"I'm tired you idiot shark, and if you use that broken ankle anymore you're going to- face…. plant…. i really wish I had a camera."

"VOIIIIII, ILL FUCKING MURDER YOU!"

"Why is your vocabulary so limited?"

"VOIII, WHY IS YOUR FUCKING BRAIN CAPACITY ONLY FUCKING LARGE ENOUGH FOR YOU TO FUCKING SUCK YOUR OWN- "

"Okay, that went nah to a hundred _real quick there mate- "_

" _DIE."_

This time, she just pulls herself up and allows the blade to eat dirt where her neck was.

"You know, you're tired enough that I'm dodging you while sitting on the ground. While you're on the ground as well. This is ridiculous. Seriously, we're done. Stop."

Her response is another sword slash, because Squalo is unrelenting and stubborn- more scarred ground and 5 minutes later, he finally rolls onto his back, breathing almost as heavily as she was.

"VOIIII, I-FUCKING-HATE-YOU, YOU SHITTY TURNIP!"

"How do you still have the breath to be that loud? Jesus on a pineapple."

Silence passes between them for a moment, before Rydia sighs, and regards the once grassy field mournfully.

"What was your plan anyways?"

"VOIII, WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU?!"

"Because we just spent over half an hour fighting to the death about it."

He tells her reluctantly after another pause, and she barks out a half hysterical laugh.

" _We had the exact same plan of action."_

…

Mary Sue smiled warmly as a beat up looking student with a…cauterized bullet hole? In his shoulder stuttered out a barely comprehensible report to her in his native Greek, glassy eyes on the verge of death. She's able to decipher it with ease, of course.

She cups his face with her hand, and thanks him gently- she sees the delight in his eyes, and ends his suffering with a quick _snap._

The corpse drops to the ground, and she stared blankly down at him, before flexing her fingers.

She used to be able to do it faster.

She needed more training with the Master's other, imperfect dolls.

Sighing, she kicks the body under the table, and waits for the next reporter- she would have to work fast, witnesses were never fun to deal with.

She frowned when she noted her chipped nail polish, but sighed and decided she could do them later- they did so well to hide the gore under the free edges; gutting people with her hands was starting to become uncouth.

…

Squalo and Rydia end up sulkily walking back to the Academy in each other's company, because Rydia was too spiteful to take the long way around, and Squalo was too prideful to give in before she did.

Squalo clinically took note of their injuries- though he had absorbed most of the damage, his stomach area felt worryingly tender, his ankle had lent him a harsh limp, and he was fairly certain one of his arms were broken. He wasn't sure who was worst off, but Rydia was definitely covered in more blood.

She had long since used her tie and shirt hem to bind her sliced apart hands, both of which were clamped over her face in an attempt to stop the bleeding before Murasaki gave out and she collapsed.

From what he had glimpsed, she would probably now have a cut running from the middle point of her forehead-between her eyebrows-down to the edge of her jaw, just barely missing the inner corner of her eye. That would be the second major scar he had given her; her sleeves had been rolled up to expose the long one down her forearm- both were rather thin however, and if not for the silvery glow, wouldn't be immediately noticeable.

Her throat had a truly remarkable bruising to mirror the ones running up his forearms, though her awkward posture said he had messed up her back as well.

She glances at him, even as she carefully removed her hands to see it her cut was still bleeding profusely.

"You face planted before because of your ankle, you really should stop walking on it- before you cause permanent damage."

Although he _had_ cut off his own hand in the future, so she was pretty sure he didn't give two flying fucks.

As though to prove this fact, he flips her off just as a door down the hallway they were traversing opens- the king of douches himself steps out, and Rydia nearly face faults at the sight of Xanxus.

 _Must not show weakness,_ she thinks, and it's the only reason why the Hibari doesn't NOPE the hell out of a convenient window.

She slows down exponentially however, reluctance on her half-covered face, but Squalo stops to acknowledge the Sky.

"You enrolled into this shit hole?"

He scoffed, and the sky shoots him a fairly dark look.

"On orders of Vongola Nono."

Was the cool, indifferent response, said in a way that Rydia instead took to mean that the Vongola Ninth had misguided conceptions of his son making, _god forbid,_ _ **friends,**_ and Xanxus was far from amused.

She snorts at the mental image, drawing his unfortunate attention.

"Got a problem with that?"

He questioned, and she blocks her mind to the way Murasaki begins to rise in reaction to the others Flame signature- instead, she meets his garnet gaze with equally ferocious cognac, because _damn her if he thought she would respect that attempt at implying Vongola solidarity._

"I,"

She states coolly,

"Have lost the average humans amount of blood, and am only standing because my Flames are more demented than a high retard. So, excuse me, _kind sir,_ if I am not inclined to dealing with your political bull shit."

She manages to startle a bark of laughter from Squalo, but it was the kind of laugh that sounded before someone got shot.

…. She kept an eye on the Sky's trigger fingers.

"There was no bullshit in what I said,"

He drawls lazily, eyes fixated on her in a clear intimidation tactic.

Rydia is tired. Rydia is tired, covered in dirt and blood, she still has a hand over her face, she's down to a singular staff disregarding the ones she kept aside, and she has _absolutely zero fucks left to give._

"Go eat a Teletubbies face, they might pay you for it."

She snaps, and is greeted by a default blank expression- she didn't really expect Xanxus to have a reaction on hand for that kind of remark though.

"I didn't quite hear that, though I find myself concerned at the implication that you both watch the Teletubbies and just implied their involved with prostitution."

She blinks at him, because apparently, he did have a reaction on hand for that kind of remark.

 _The fuck?_

"Sassy Vongola is sassy. This was unexpected, and my brains emergency services aren't equipped for this."

She admits, genuinely serious, because she really was operating on base survival instincts at this point in time.

Abruptly, she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Squalo is way too shit eating and amused. She wants to kick his ankles out and watch him fall on his ass.

"Then I hope you're at least equipped for the consequences of questioning the Vongola."

He growls, eyes half lidded.

"That-that's actually impressive. You managed to go from Teletubbies and prostitution to mafia honor, you smooth tanuki."

"…What the _fuck_ did you just call me?"

It wasn't a question, and the gun begins to glow with his Flames- she's acutely aware she won't be able to dodge.

"I will kick you in the balls before I die."

She decides calmly and firmly, and he stares silently at her, considering. What, she didn't know, because she had just threatened to kick him in the balls for Godric sake.

…. Probably whether or not he should let her live just for having balls of fucking steel.

"I'm going to engrave that quote on your gravestone,"

Squalo snorted, and she beams at him.

"A true friend!"

"VOIIII, IM NOT YOUR FUCKING FRIEND!"

Xanxus scoffs, and _bloody pulls the trigger, the insane son of a dead cow._

She doesn't make a sound, internally meeping, even as she shifts ever so slightly to avoid the thankfully not flame charged bullet- apparently, she didn't give her base survival instincts enough credit.

Suddenly, horror dawns, and it must have been visible on her face, since Xanxus casually raises an eyebrow like he hadn't just tried to blow her head off.

" _My old mans been sending mutant skylarks faster than a flipping bullet at me this entire time."_

The Cloud, Xanxus decides, is definitely unstable, and possibly more stupid than Superbia- as such, he deems them both unworthy, and takes a pot shot at Squalo as he walks away.

He can hear her mental breakdown all the way down the hallway; her laugh crying (horrified shrieking?) is somehow loud enough to drown out the irritating swordsman's cursing.

 _…_ _._

 _"_ _What are you DOING."_

Kasumi just barely held herself from turning it into a groan of frustration- Kyoya blinked lazily up at her, and holding the tonfa incorrectly, _shattered the block of wood._

Kasumi threw her hands in the air as her husband walked into the dojo, breaking her elegant persona to point at the slightly confused blonde.

"I blame you, I blame you and _your fucking inability to use weapons like a normal person."_

He frowns.

"I can use weapons,"

He protests lightly, and the woman stares at him in growing disbelief.

"You pistol whipped someone with a loaded gun, kicked someone onto their own blade instead of, oh I don't know, USING IT, and I have so many more. Oh, the time you managed to disarm me, and _utterly failed at life."_

At the last one, she could swear that pink crept up his neck.

"What does this have to do with Kyoya? He seems to be doing fine."

He noted, studying the damage caused by the mini tonfas with a calculating gaze.

"…. So basically, doing just fine equates to making up moves on the spot."

"Basically. It keeps everyone off their feet."

"…. Of course, it does. And suddenly, I understand my Mothers drinking problem. Kyoya, we're doing it again from stance 8!"

"Haii."

…

 _(Red stared silently at the dead body in front of him, and with suspiciously still hands, covered in a shade darker than his name-sake, gently placed the flower crown on the man's head._

 _He had tried to hurt what was his, and behind him, the powerful Rain further imprinted on his own Flames, bonding with him._

 _…_ _. He misses the Cloud.)_

 _…_

* * *

 **(A/N) We have a winter break to study for first term exams, and I literally wrote this entire thing in 2 days. I am so impressed. (sorry it's a bit shorter, but I didn't want to wait any longer…..)**

 **FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS!**

 **There's a new story on my profile related to TimeLess; it's basically full of outtakes.**

 **Another thing- I got a guest review a few weeks back with a critique, and its disappointing because they would have given a better one if they had read further than the first chapter. I'll add that and my answer at the end of this note.**

 **Do you guys want to request any short story specials for Halloween? I could work on one, but it won't be out for an exact time.**

 **I didn't get many reviews, (I cri every time), but special thanks to those who did review! A change of formatting is required.**

 _First, I'd like to thank_ ChillingShadow _and_ VinniVVicci _for submitting their OC's, and I hope I did them justice. For further notice, since I didn't mention before, the main components I need are their personality, behavior, looks, name, and how they think of our dear characters._

 **To;** Lola, ADDBaby, Etha, Vaughn Tyler-

 **I'M SO GLAD YOU GUYS ARE IN IT FOR MARY SUE! Sorry she didn't have much in this chapter, but I needed something to get the ball going.**

 **Thanks for taking the time to read this fic~**

 **…**

 **NOW FOR THE GUEST CRITIQUE!**

 **…**

 **GUEST-**

Mentally unstable chapter 1 . Oct 9

You can't be mentally unstable if you have Asperger's unless it's related to anxiety or paranoia. An Asperger's emotions are so hard to identify that they themselves don't know what they're feeling most of the time, leading to them becoming very logical. If she's majoring in psychology it means she would be intelligent enough and interested enough to perfectly imitate a very charming person with no guilt or qualms about it, capable of manipulating everyone around her. It would be like how a psychopath is depicted in movies, just in real life. Without all those impulses to be violent and similar.

 **MY RESPONSE-**

As is mentioned further in the story, Rydia is indeed suffering from paranoia and hallucinations that appear whenever she's alone. Even if she has Asperger's, this would be enough to classify her as unstable.

Though she's sociopathic, she didn't take psychology so she could imitate those around her - this is because she doesn't feel she has to.  
As mentioned before, she doesn't understand basic functions of society, such as the giving of names- what makes you think she would understand what she's doing needs to be hidden?  
This does bring to reason the question of WHY she took psychology.

Once again, I implied earlier how she has no motivation or goal in life- the same holds true for her past life as well. She took psychology because she thought it would be ironic, and she found that amusing.

I repeat, though she is intelligent and manipulative as well as logical, she would never think to apply her knowledge of psychology to hide her instability because she doesn't understand enough of society to do so.  
Not to mention, to be able to pull off a convincing facade requires a level of acting skills she does not possess.


	12. Under Stormy Skies, Part 3

Rydia was under the completely accurate impression that her stomach was not only trying to devour her inside out, but was trying to make the horrific death even more humiliating by making everyone in a 10-mile radius aware of it.

Choosing to ignore how it was mainly a fault of her own, as no-one had insisted she fight without respite, she instead forced another spoonful of food into her mouth, swallowing around her reluctance to put in the extra effort involved with chewing. Her face was uncomfortably numb, and she found she had slight difficulty moving the muscles in her cheek of which her new scar ran down- it certainly didn't help that it was the right side of her face, where her misaligned lips pulled up into an asymmetrical slant.

It gave her the permanent suggestion of a smirk, which wasn't far off her underlying personality.

The cafeteria was desolate save the few souls who couldn't be bothered to go to their classes, a sore reminder of the knowledge she was missing out on. Flame theory was one of her priorities, and she was half inclined to ditch the plan and just stick a knife into Mary's neck.

Then, she thought of Squalo, decided she liked her organs where they were, and settled on annoying him in a way less likely to end with her imminent demise. Yes, she was still reeling from her encounter with Xanxus.

…. His level of sass had been unprecedented.

She poked at the fried rice and meat on her plate, and revaluated her options. Firstly, she had to find out Mary Sue's objective.

Though it was possible that she was just some poor misguided soul looking for acceptance in a strange away- she snorted in disbelief- it was highly unlikely, and almost too stupid to consider.

She paused, and a frown flitted across her face.

Revaluating what she knew of the blonde, she almost made to note it down on her hand, before realizing she no longer carried pens with her. Scowling, and mood decidedly taking a turn for the worse, she went over it mentally instead.

 _-Keeps up a polite façade and projects weakness._

 _-Intelligent and creative, as exampled by use of her Flames._

 _-Extreme advantage in Flame control and types._

 _-Seems to be able to track Flames, she collapsed when Xanxus was in the vicinity? Might be strain of maintaining her Misty Sky cocktail, unlikely as she doesn't seem too bad off now._

 _-Has more trouble maintaining control over large reserves, flaring Flame signature throws her off balance?_

 _-Hasn't come after my hide in a rage, dangerous amount of patience. Or dedication to objective?_

 _-If its dedication, why? Personal agenda? Orders? Method of achieving objective appears to involve gaining support of the student body, or is it a byproduct?_

 _-She's probably unhinged. That smile is too genuine._

Rydia considered scratching the last bit off, since she wasn't so sure she should be marking all happy people as unhinged, but then again….

…

She kept the last point, and was eyeing her plate with a mixture of hunger and laziness while debating the humiliation of straws, when someone dropped into the seat to her left.

Her fingers twitch around the fork, and she's kind of glad she was too out of it to throw the fork at the person, because, excuse you, _eating utensil?_

Even so, she compensates by glaring pointedly at the intruder- Iris Hepburn smirked in amusement, Violet eyes clear and large Flame reserves booming. A flicker of her own gaze noted that the fellow Cloud was probably unaware of Mary Sue, simply assuming she was just a new student with a hell lot of clout and a sunny disposition. Idiot. That would only be an acceptable conclusion if Mary was a powerful as hell Sky.

As it was, Rydia knew that she needed to create contacts- in fact, it was _vital_ to their plan. She sucked on her teeth, noticed that the voluptuous young adult was opening her mouth to speak, promptly realized she wasn't paid nearly enough for this, and got up to leave.

Immediately the sly, faux charming expression faded from Iris' features, and her eyes narrowed.

"You- "

"-Will speak to you later. We share a dorm room, and the brief shower I took wasn't enough to get all the blood off me properly. I'm eating in the room, sleeping for 16 hours, and only then will I acknowledge your existence beyond this."

With that, she spun on her heel and strode from the room, fighting the urge to raise her shoulders defensively. Social interaction, word manipulation and dealing, seemed like it would be the straw that broke the camel's back. She heard Iris' chair scrape back as the Cloud made to follow her, but an attempt to quicken her stride was met with a spike of pain that nearly made her buckle to her knees.

That was…. a lot more than training pains. Her leg began to seize up as a cramp began to set in, and she was abruptly aware of her presence in a very public area. She had downed nearly an entire litre or more of water the moment she got to the cafeteria, so she didn't have to worry about it being dehydration, but even she couldn't walk on an unresponsive leg.

And she was _not_ crawling to the dorms.

She glimpses a familiar head of spiky black hair, parting the crowd like the red sea, and feels dread pool in her stomach. She vainly scours for a blonde or silver head of hair, since Dino was both too nice and meek to refuse being a prop for her, and Squalo and her had bled on each other too much to be too annoyed at being used as a walking stick.

(Especially since their fight was the reason for her limbs trying to mutiny. Swords man's pride and all that, strong opponent wasn't much of one if they face plant in a hallway and gets shot by an opportunistic student.)

As it is, she contemplates jumping out of a window, deduces that's synonymous with suicide in her current case and wouldn't get her any closer to a vacant area, and decides gloomily that she really is a horrid tactician.

Because she was seriously considering blasting the place with Killing Intent a literal _2 feet away from the trigger happy Vongola._

Iris was a lot closer than two feet, and Rydia had stopped walking, standing awkwardly with one hip cocked because she was balancing all her weight on one leg.

She takes a deep breath, and Murasaki _roars._

She hits the ground.

The hysteria hits fast and hard, exacerbated when Xanxus spins around, horrifically fast, and let's loose an entire flaming salvo over head- most hit students, and there's a graze on her forehead where she hadn't dropped fast enough.

But the area clears with the sound of stampeding elephants, at least one footprint in her spine, on top of the bruise Squalo gave her.

Silence, and an ominous click as the gun levels at her- the lack of Blood Lust or Killing Intent makes it worse somehow.

So, she rolls onto her back, and sits up against the wall, ignoring the gun as she tries to massage the cramp out of her muscles with hands heated by Murasaki.

The agony doesn't show on her face, but the sporadic twitches give her away, and venom drips from his voice when he speaks.

" _Scum."_

"Rum."

"I'm going to kill you, extremely slowly, by shooting _a bullet into every one of your limbs, hot enough that the lead melts into your flesh._ Then, I'm going to pluck them out, _one, by fucking one."_

"…. I can't think of a rhyme for that one, what a rummy tum tum. Frik I'm tired. I majored in English and Psychology for this. Rummy tum tum? Shooting me would be a disservice, truly."

The sarcasm rings true, her lip lifted slightly in a snarl. The expression is halfhearted, and she flicks a violet glance up to meet scarlet eyes.

"If you shoot me, you'll die with the words rummy tum tum stuck in your head for the rest of your tanuki life."

His lips twitched.

"Calling me a tanuki is counterproductive to not being shot."

As if to underline the fact, he fires off a shot that takes a red streak from her shoulder. She didn't even blink, and began doing stretches.

"What the hell are you on about? Tanukis are the best thing to happen to this world, have you seen their fluffy little faces? Since you're the worst thing to happen to this world, it's an apt name. I like irony."

"Rummy tum tum was the worst thing to happen to this world."

Rydia wished she could have recorded that line. Then, when he started crowing about being Vongola Decimo in the future, she could just play back 'Rummy tum tum' in his own voice back at him.

"I stand defeated. But not, like, really, because- "

She waved a hand at her seizing leg.

"-Mutiny, y'know?"

He kicks her in the face, and holsters his gun.

"That was really insensitive. I want to be able to kick people in the face."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Yes."

"And yet, I remain unconvinced of that, and more convinced of your inability to function like anything outside of a hot fucking mess."

"To be able to convince someone of something, you need to be able to watch from their view point- unfortunately, my head can't go further up my ass."

"Further?"

"Hot mess, remember? Sheesh, short term memory loss already?"

"…Do you ever think before you speak?"

She shrugged.

"Has anyone told you your 'Judging you' face is _on point?"_

He walks away after kicking her in the ribs hard enough for them to creak, but for a moment she had forgotten about Mary Sue, about the blood she could still feel under her finger nails, about the weight of her weapons in the thigh holster she wore, about the reason for her current aches.

She recoils from the faint pulse of loss that ripples through Murasaki, but isn't stupid enough to dip onto her Flame wavelength to check what she suspected.

….

 _Damn Sky._

….

She sighed, and leant back, staring at the ceiling from half lidded eyes, till the cognac faded back in, tired in a way the unearthly violet would never be capable of replicating.

Ah well. She had always had a side of destructive self-indulgence.

…

Squalo watched in distaste as the student slid down the wall, leaving behind a streak of blood, gibbering still falling from his lips- Useless, every single one of them. Mary had done something to everyone that she called into her room.

 _(Mist slid through the holes, widened them until they were cracking, splintering, and the fog danced on the ashes of the ghost town it left behind.)_

Hissing through his teeth, his ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowed in thought- a spike of pain, and he bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood, swiftly taking weight back off his ankle.

It hadn't been as bad before, when adrenaline was numbing everything, but he had had to get it set at the clinic, and now it was fixated on making every step of his life agonizing.

Literally.

Sighing aggravatedly, He scowled when he noted a familiar set of footsteps, though the gait was uneven. Rydia saluted him halfheartedly, and continued past the Library, making her way to the Female dorms.

After a moment of consideration, he dropped into step with her, and ignored both her muscle pains and the blood trickling down her temple and shoulder.

"I'm not getting anywhere with anyone who's interacted with her."

"It would be safe to assume she's doing surveillance on a person or group, since if she wanted access to the school records, generators, bank accounts, security, weaponry, or hell, even the freaking _staff bathrooms,_ all she would have to do is smile."

"Why now, though? She could have been planted earlier."

"So, the person or staff has recently been added. Can't be waiting to give a false sense of security, since she hasn't exactly been subtle in what she's doing. Have we ruled out independent action?"

"99 percent, she joined with a quite a bit of fanfare unable to be achieved without backing. Could be forced backing, but I doubt it- most would work willingly with someone of her Flame caliber."

Rydia pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Fanfare…. why though? A subtle entrance would be better for surveillance. But her approach…perhaps she intends to try and get someone influential here under her thumb?"

Squalo shook his head immediately, and glared a group of lingering students out of their path and hearing distance.

"Intended. Past tense. Her approach has become more brutal, messy. Could be attempting to threaten, but if they're that influential, it would be a lost cause."

"Might have been my fault. Barbie doll looked unhinged as hell when I broke free and kicked under my boot. Maybe I made her reckless? She had seemed ready to play a waiting game."

"She's a professional, that shouldn't have been enough."

Realization flickered through Rydia's eyes.

"Tanuki was in the vicinity at the time, and when I accidentally tuned into his signature, there was no signs her Mist had got anywhere close. But why would that…Oh. You can't get more influential than the Vongola?"

Sterling eyes narrowed immediately.

"And if she had intended to get him under her and her benefactors thumb, his resistance would negate her entire approach. Would explain the sudden brutality. Surveillance might be a switch over to hostile action."

"He would have definitely noticed a bunch of mooks stalking him, so it's probably more like she's picking students that coincide with whatever path he's rent, and pulling information like teeth. Why go after his head specifically though?"

"It's likely he might be one of the more vulnerable heirs now, having been transferred from a literal fortress to here. That, and he's comparatively younger and therefore _must_ be easier to manipulate, right? Fucking idiots."

Something in that rung false, but it was swept away for a more dawning realization.

"OH, MY GODRIC YOU DIDN'T CURSE AT ALL UNTIL THE END AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN VOII, WHAT SORCERY- "

"VOIIIII, SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU INSANE TURNIP!"

"NO WAY IN HELL, YOU HAVE A _STRATEGY VOICE_ IM DYING- "

….

It was with a fresh bruise on her head that Rydia sauntered into dorm room 418, her leg at least vaguely functional at this point. Flavia blinked down at her from where she was swinging upside down from her bunk, but didn't say anything as she made a bee-line for the connected bathroom, only pausing to grab her toiletries and a set of clothes, unwilling to use the public showers down the hallway.

As it was, she ended up spending more time watching blood swirl down the drain than was probably healthy, steam curling off her reddened skin. At long last, she found herself able to crawl out from under the water that pounded her back, moving sluggishly through the resultantly steamed room.

When she finally grumbled out of the bathroom, a grimace painted over her lips, and feeling cleaner than she had all day, she was completely ready to crumple into her bed like a doll with its strings cut.

Instead, she paused, and examined the one-woman scene going on in the room, Flavia and Iris nowhere to be found.

Rydia was highly aware of her own faults- being Languorous was practically her core mentality, she was spiteful in a self-destructive manner, she flew off the handle because the tiniest thing could trigger her mountain slide of bottled issues, she took far too much pleasure in her intimidation factor, and you couldn't swing a koala without hitting one of her many sociopathic tendencies.

But despite all this, she liked to think she had the most trivial of good points- a protective instinct that _wasn't_ stalker-like, she still thanked retail workers and held open doors for people until it started affecting her schedule, she upheld her end of bargains, and she completely respected religious beliefs and personal choices. Like say, avoiding Alcohol like the holy plague.

Evidently, Mary Sue didn't.

"Isn't there a saying about moderation and drinking before you know your limits?"

Rydia asked blandly from the threshold of the bathroom, steam curling out along her calves and gaze flicking between Lena's flushed face, and the half-consumed bottle in her hands.

Lena frowned, apparently a lightweight, and slurred something that may have been a _'I have made a huge mistake'_ or _'Are you a huge ass steak'._

Rydia was more inclined to believe the former, although with the Mist Flames entangling the Lightnings system, she could have said anything.

Sighing, she strode forward and tore the bottle from the Lightnings hands, who tried to protest, and ended up pitching face first into the table- Rydia wrinkled her nose at the alcohol in disgust; she emptied the bottle down the sink drain.

She trotted back into the room, cast a look at Lena, decided she could do one good thing before she passed the hell out, and threw a bottle full of water at the Lightning.

Which was apparently her nice quota for the decade, since she promptly faceplanted into her pillows and went utterly still.

Lena groaned, and threw up.

…

When she woke from a dreamless sleep edged with fatigue, exactly 16 hours later, she belatedly realized that it was a weekend and that, while classes weren't exactly cancelled, she supposed that no-one would bother to attend.

She attempted to roll onto her back, and seemed to leave her gut a good few feet above where she had flailed onto the floor in an ungraceful heap, limbs useless despite the lack of claustrophobia inducing blankets trapping them.

She laid on the cold floor for a moment, cheek down and stunned, before hauling ass to her feet, a dark red flush riding a prickling current to her cheekbones.

She blessed her dark skin as she casually stretched as though she hadn't just face-planted out of bed, and a surreptitious look around revealed no witnesses.

Clearing her throat, and grumpily noted that even she wasn't infallible to the horror of getting out of bed, before sludging over to the bathroom to clean up- its only when she ducks out again that she realizes what was slightly off about the room.

The shitfaced, and therefore hung-over lightning was no-where to be found in the dim room.

Since she didn't particularly care what happened to the other girl, (Though she noted the water bottle she had tossed was drained dry) she instead made short work of exiting the wing, unwilling to be any closer to Mary Sue- she could feel the girl's presence especially thick here.

It was only when she had exited the wing, however, that she realized she had no appetite, and therefore no destination in mind. The training rooms would do more damage than good in her current state.

Changing her course for the library, a sleight of hand that would never have fooled the more experienced had her a pen and blank notebook from a passing student.

She managed to find an alcove hidden by a couple of bookshelves that curved awkwardly to best catch the light; meaning the shadows they cast were deeper than most. It was oddly comforting, especially the thin stream of light that made it through a gap between books.

There was no seating, but she curled up on the plush carpet, and for a moment, she was in her university's library, ink stained hands and timed breathing, the rustle of papers as she went through her sketches with an absent-minded determination.

She slowly uncapped the pen, and held to awkwardly above the paper. She had been planning to write, but….

…

She held the pen strangely.

Suited for the sharp script of her handwriting, precise and neat as it was, but completely too tight, inexperienced for the deft ease of lightly stroked lines.

Something cold slipped down her spine, and the corpses breathed at her ear; she could imagine their bony fingers rattling each bump in her spine as they traced it.

Realizing that her shoulders had begun to hunch in and raise, she forcefully straightened her posture, tipping her head with a pride she didn't feel.

It wasn't like she had forgot how to draw basic shapes, the proportions.

 _(The calluses on her fingers rasped strangely, unfamiliarly against the pen. The hands of a warrior, useful. Not the hands of an artist and a writer. Not her hands.)_

The first line came out too harsh.

The second too bold.

The third was askew.

The fourth was misjudged, and drew longer than she intended.

She breathed out, a slow exhale, and began to jerkily make the curve of a shape she once could draw with ease.

It was just an eye.

She didn't try the long, confident strokes she had once been capable of, afraid of what they would reveal- instead, she pressed the pen too hard, dragging it and making the paper scar.

She had barely come to the lower lid when she began to laugh, a broken, breathy noise not unlike the one she had given Squalo while in a berserker rage.

She was _unravelling,_ and she didn't know what to _do-_

The hand holding the pen went slack, and she watched it roll in between fingers that weren't her own.

They belonged to Hibari Rydia, not- _(She couldn't remember.)_

The pang of loss hit her hard, harder than most things had, and she choked on it coming up. She has to swallow the bile, retching and staring unseeingly at the childish, wonky creation that lay like blood in-front of her.

The ink didn't stain these hands.

She didn't laugh, this time.

Maybe she would, later, pretend that the press of broken glass against her heart was just the strain of her vocal cords, of her heaving for breath.

But for now, the world blurred out of focus as crystals fell from unworthy eyes.

 _(They just keep TaKiNg-)_

…

…

…

 _(She never got anything in return. And when, indeed, had even the awkwardness of an unsure but genuine smile turned into a jagged smirk that drew blood at the edges?)_

…

...

Kasumi slowed her step as she noticed that Kyoya had begun to slow his own pace, an unusual action considering his hate of crowds.

The market place bustled in a lively manner, with a few noticing her presence and scrambling to clear a path- she was forced to reject their fear induced generosity with a growing sense of amusement, watching as Kyoya gravitated towards one of the stores with what seemed to be a cobra of sorts in the display window.

A pet shop, then.

Curiosity brightening her indigo eyes, she placed the finger tips of her hand on his shoulder, steering him lightly towards the store.

He flicked unreadable steel eyes up at her, before the careful mask imitated from her own broke, excitement shining through. His lips twitched in the urge to smile, and only her own bemused, fond one, seemed to cause the twitch to grow into a small quirk that brightened his entire face.

A lesser woman might have felt loss, for how her son was already starting to hide what he felt, guarding it to his chest like a deck of cards.

She was not a lesser woman.

She was a _Hibari,_ and if Kyoya knew when to drop his guard, and when to keep it, the pride that straightened her spine would stay impeccable longer still.

She walked into the store like a queen, cool smile in place- it wasn't quite as cheerful as her fathers, but he had more than thought her how to unnerve many.

In moments, most of the store had hurriedly evacuated, and the store keeper was sweating bullets.

Sometimes, her own reputation brought her great pleasure, like an Eagle surveying her hunting grounds.

Kyoya took no notice of his mothers subtle preening, even if to call it out was tantamount to suicide. (Unless you were Hibari Katsu, but that was a given.)

He cast a steady, assessing look over all the small animals he could find, his eyes eventually finding what seemed to be a group of tiny birds.

"We needed birds for the garden, thought it will be hard to make sure they know to hunt for themselves."

She stated imperiously, hands folded into the sleeves of her kimono; cold steel pressed against her skin but was not drawn.

Kyoya looked up her with slightly widened eyes, the equivalent of a jaw drop and walk into a light pole for Hibari's, before his eyes all but disappeared under the smile that rose his cheeks.

She twitched with the effort of holding in her cackle, and memorized the moment.

God, he was adorable as fuck, and she never should have had children.

...

"Mistakes."

Was all Kasumi told Nana that day, as the brown-haired woman cooed and snapped pictures of a still half asleep Tsuna, head of fluffy hair and in loose yellow overalls as he rubbed at one of his eyes, a pillow held tightly to his chest with the free hand.

"You regret nothing."

Nana giggled, and Kasumi shrugged helplessly.

"I _know_ that, but he had both of our features, and I have never seen either of us smile that large. It was adorable, but I also feel like I walked in on someone cleaning their weapons."

Nana gave her a strange, but bemused look.

"A Hibari metaphor?"

"I will cut you."

Nana laughed again, Mist Flames lighter than it had ever been since her Sky had left, and Kasumi realized that it was only her and Tsunayoshi that kept her from going over the edge.

"We won't be here forever."

Because no-one ever accused Hibari Kasumi of pulling punches, rather they begged her to.

A broken smile from the brunette.

"I know."

…

"VOIIIII, WHY THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU IN MY DORM?!"

" _Shut the fuck up trash."_

…

Red had been bandaging the hands of his apparent Rain Guardian, a tall mute girl with black hair and azure eyes, berating her with a scalding tongue gained from the streets, when Kinoko walked into the room he had been given, silently handing him an envelope with an unbroken seal.

It was emblemed with the crest of that weird school the Cloud had gone to, so he knew that the unbroken seal didn't necessarily mean that the contents hadn't been read.

Nevertheless, he pulled out the sheet of paper, eyes narrowed and sharp- It was a piece of blank white paper, with a series of holes punched through in specific locations. At the top of the paper was a single sentence, written like a quote.

He knew it was a dialogue, and trusting his Rain, crawled under the bed to retrieve the practice-books hidden in the slats of the matress.

They contained the stories she had made him copy by hand.

Finding the book in English, the language the dialogue had been written in, he went through the pages until he found the one with the dialogue.

He fit the paper over the page, and the punched-out holes let through one or more letters at a time. Backwards.

He rolled his eyes at her almost spited sense of humor, but his genius was easily able to decipher the sentence anyways.

 _Hostile activity on Vongola heirs?_

…. Of all the things to ask information on, she had to go straight for _the strongest family of crazy to ever grace the mafia._

His Rain, Maria, Laughed.

"Traitor, Sai."

He grumbled uncharitably.

She looked at him with warm eyes, unlike the dead gaze he had been met with when he first found her on the streets, and tilted her head.

"Robin found a street a good city over where it seems a lot of mafia members tend to frequent the bar called 'Dead Rose.' We might find a Vongola member there, and if the heirs are being attacked, even the lowest tiers would know. Not by the Boss' choice, but they would."

Red frowned.

"We're _kids._ We wouldn't get past the backdoor, Sai."

"Marvin is a Mist, and his adult façade finally holds for more than a second."

"... Find a map on the area, and send Robin out to charm the local street rats to help us if things go wrong, Sai."

"Of course."

…

* * *

 **(Here's your extremely late Halloween special, but to make it up to you, it's a civilian AU as well? Also, OVER 450 FOLLOWERS and my guilt is through the fucking roof.)**

* * *

Rydia stared blankly at the textbook in her lap, and rhythmically taps her highlighter onto the blue streaked paragraph, trying and failing to absorb the information.

The watery sunlight that barely broke through the clouds of winter shed blue light through the window she was sat besides, cold penetrating even through the multiple warm bodies around her- she absently pulled her fringe free of her garnet beanie, and was glad for the thick grey jeans and olive windbreaker.

The coffee shop bustled, a busy location even when the weather wasn't as cold - wisps of steam curled from her mocha, ordered vanilla pastry untouched and looking ready to wilt into the dreary backdrop.

A rumble, and the storm finally broke in a gentle ripple of rain drops that she knew would grow vicious soon- the bell tinkled as someone stumbled into the shelter of the shop, and she just about catches violent, loud cursing before the sound is absorbed into the cacophony that seems a tad too distant.

She blinks and startles, banging her knee against the underside of the table when someone abruptly drops into the seat opposite her- she casts an annoyed glare upwards, and is greeted to the sight of a platinum blonde male with a red scarf around their neck; white ear muffs to match the zipped up black jacket hastily thrown over equally dark jeans.

They seem to be busy warming their hands on their ordered drink and cursing under their breath, so when a quick glance around reveals that all the other tables are indeed occupied, she lets the presence of another human being slide.

She doesn't bother initiating conversation, and the table shudders as they plop down a truly horrifically thick textbook onto the table- she stares in disbelief at the title, something in relation to history, and wonders how he hasn't broken his fingers carrying that.

Realization hits her, and she glances down at the paragraph she had been unable to process, something on some obscure war nobody cared about because it was all just skeletons and pottery now.

…. She could, she supposed, swallow her pride and ask the clear history major for help.

It doesn't even surprise her that she instead shuts the book and finally acknowledges her neglected pastry.

The scent of pumpkin spice is overpowering, as is the tangible presence of fresh autumn rain further customers carry as they walk in- she idly notes that an entire group of people are dressed in their Halloween costumes, clearly going to attend a party as several are distraught about the not so sudden weather change.

She comes to the realization that she should probably kick the third chair at the table away to avoid further company, but is distracted when the male lets out a piercing snarl of frustration and slams his face into his textbook.

She pauses, fork in her mouth, and leans slightly over the table to get a better look at how he hadn't broken his nose doing that.

Pulling it out idly, she tilts her head and speaks in a mockingly thoughtful tone.

"You know, I have a highlighter if you need one. I hear it works better than ramming your face into passages."

"VOIIIIII, FUCK THE HELL OFF!"

He spits, raising his head to glare heatedly at her- she leans back into her seat, suitably cheered up now that she had someone else to infect her misery with- the cheer is ruined however, when he spots her own textbook, and scoffs.

"How well is that fucking highlighter working for you?"

He sneers, and she narrows her eyes, deciding he quite annoyed her- before either can stab the other with a fork, a lithe figure slams an expresso shot onto the table, tipping a salt shaker into Rydia's lap with the movement- they drop into the free chair with a dark scowl, and ignoring both entirely, props their feet onto the table and starts scrolling through their phone; headphones clamped firmly over their ears.

She very calmly lifts the shaker from her lap, and stands to dust her jeans off- the blonde is glaring holes into the other male's head, and looks about ready to rip him a new one.

Before that can happen, Rydia casually holds the shaker over the dark-haired occupants head, and _crushed the metal container in her fist._

The male stills as the salt and metal bits shower down on his head; her having released her hold, and he raises heated red eyes to clash against her cognac ones.

Water drips from the scarlet feathers braided into a lock of his pitch hair, toned olive skin and black leather jacket lending him an almost mobster like vibe.

The chair skids backwards as he stands, face already contorting into a ferocious scowl- before the situation can get out of hand, the blonde nearly kicks the table into them, enraged as he holds up his textbook, of which a page was dripping with the remnants of a coffee that had probably been tipped onto his book during the scene.

Rydia hasn't been in a three-way fight before, but she gets ready to kick the dark haired one through the window and slug the blonde anyways.

Her plans are thwarted when the door is suddenly flung open, slamming into the wall of the shop- a group of people pour in, and for a moment she thinks she's looking at more Halloween costumed trick or treaters- then, she sees the clown outfits and the metal that gleams under the lights.

"I thought that died out!"

She hissed, stumbling out of the ay and consequentially into the dark-haired male as people begin to scream and throw themselves towards the back of the shop, several standing and yelling in confusion.

He grimaces, and his response is lost when their practically thrown through the window; a woman screeching in a wild-eyed panic; a definite overreaction.

Then, one of them start up a chainsaw, and she sees blood spray.

The blonde, she belatedly realizes, had brought a sheath like thing in with him- now, he withdraws a bokken, and with mild annoyance covering his expression, begins to push his way to the front of the crowd.

Disbelieving, she gapes as the male with the headphones pulls a freaking _gun_ out of his jacket, and takes aim at one of the idiots with too much face paint.

Throwing her hands in the air in a _screw it_ gesture, she makes her way to the front of the crowd as well, and kicks one of them in the face hard enough to send their knife through the wall.

The rest, as they say, is history.

 **…** **.**

 **(A/N)**

* * *

 **(Cross posting to AO3 under the same title if you like that format better.)**

 **First off, I'm sorry for the wait. Second off, the exams went well, so yay! Unfortunately, my winter break is going to be somewhere with shit internet, so there's that.**

 **ON TO REVIEW REPLIES! (Thanks for the love~)**

 **To;** alexa-chan me, DragonClanMaster, akagami hime chan, Dallas Baker-

 **I'm glad you enjoy my shit humor, and trust me, there's more to come~ And the bonding WILL HAPPEN! Once I figure out how to deal with their awkwardness….**

 **To;** BloomOutOfSeason

 **That you think this is worth a re-read makes me incredibly happy. Thank you so much.**

 **To;** Etha –

 **Well, here's your special! Also, the plan will only be fun when it goes horrifically wrong~**

 **To;** ChillingShadow-

 **Again, thank you for the OC submission, and I'm glad that I portrayed them to your satisfaction!**

 **To;** Guest

 **Understood. *solemn nod.***


	13. Merry TimeLess Christmas

**(A/N) IMPORTANT! It seems some of you guys aren't aware that there's a story on my profile full of short stories for TimeLess called** _'The TimeLess Workshop_ **', so I'll be posting the Christmas special here. ITS NOT RELATED TO THE CURRENT PLOT.**

 **MERRY CHRISTMAS Oh my god this file gave me so much shit trying to upload-**

* * *

Rydia hissed in pain, tears beading at the corners of her eyes as she folds over reflexively, dropping into a crouch as she cradles her bleeding hand.

Papers flutter to the ground with her abrupt motion, and across from her, Squalo eyes her suspiciously, his own stacks of paperwork piled randomly over the couch and coffee table.

His usual office had been compromised for…. reasons, that meant Rydia had to help him with paper pushing for the foreseeable future.

"VOIIII, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, GET BACK TO WORK!"

He spits, poking her in the ribs with a foot.

"Papercut,"

She hisses through her teeth, and there's a beat of incredulous silence, before he calmly gets to his feet. She lifts a wary cognac gaze to eye his sword hand.

"Are you trying to tell me,"

He spoke slowly, at such a low volume that she was highly concerned for his vocal cords,

"That having your face sliced open and getting a _bullet through several of your body parts,_ is not enough to make you bat an eye, but _a paper cut does you in?"_

"…. yes?"

The shark makes an inarticulate noise of rage, eyes slightly wild in the way he gets when he truly realizes how stupid she is, and then they don't have to worry about paper shredders anymore.

"This is bullying!"

"VOIIIIIIII, I WILL _MURDER YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY-"_

"YOU ARE MY FAMILY! AND THE OTHER HALF ARE BLOODY TERRIFYING, SO GOOD LUCK-"

" _DIE."_

 _"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT-"_

…

The Vongola are known for a lot of things, none the least their annual Christmas galas, an event so impressive, that just receiving an invitation is considered a status symbol and can gain you enough street cred to shame the president.  
That being said, it does nicely to show just how powerful the Vongola are.  
Chandeliers dripped with delicate diamonds that glowed with stolen starlight, from arched, almost Gothic ceilings that could no doubt be dated back many centuries- the floors of the ballroom gleam in a soft ambience, marble polished gray and gold veined. Thin but multiple, the windows are fit between intricate pillars, purple grey drapes pulled back to reveal the gentle snow that drifts down from the moonless night.  
Shadows seep into corners decked with nigh unnoticeable mistletoe, and curved tables of lace spilled wood hold expensive and even exotic gourmet delicacies; fountains of wine and champagne gurgled softly to the cadence of a hidden orchestra.  
Fake snow was dusted carefully along window sills and thresholds, over the sterling and blood red roses that winded around pillars, filling the air with a subtle fragrance.  
Mafiosi spun in a waltzing dance along the nigh mystical atmosphere, in muted shades of the rainbow and ostentatious cascades of jewels. Their murmurs flitted through the shadows, glinting eyes no less dangerous than if they hadn't been stripped of their weaponry at the entrance.  
But they all paled in comparison to the hosts of the gala, the Vongola themselves.  
Indeed, the Varia slipped through the half shadows like well dressed predators, sleek suits over dark shades of their Flames, whereas the current generation of Vongola swept through the masses in a flash of a smile and underhanded politics; undeniably attractive in both power and appearance.  
Rydia leant against one of the window sills, idly eyeing the fairy light decked gardens outside of the heated ballroom as the snow thickened in an ever shifting layer. Her suit jacket had been folded immaculately over her arm, vest as well fitted as her pants and nearly as pitch black. Her shirt was the only flash of color, a wine drenched shade of violet, tie a skinny strip of black.  
Squalo scoffed as she abruptly found him leaning beside her, the male eyeing his champagne like he wished it was something stronger- she had somehow convinced him to let her do his hair, so it hung in a loose cascading braid of silver over his shoulder, stark against his dark suit.  
She squinted at his suede shoes.  
He was already freakishly silent, that was just unfair.  
"So, how many times were you hit on on the last hour?"  
She asked conversationally, and was greeted with a sharp side eye, sterling eyes flashing in annoyance.  
"... 7,"  
He revealed after a grudging silence, and she snorted.  
"Tanuki is going to flip his shit."  
Not because it was normal flirting- no, Squalo was pretty enough that it was definitely expected, and it was a running game in the Varia to see how many dead bodies he had to hide before he gave up and just threw them out of a window. Rather, it was 'Guardian flirting.'  
An act that consisted of trying to draw another in with their Flame signature; nothing as forceful as to cause the love bird effect; but more of a teasing temptation.  
Needless to say, Guardian flirting with someone already claimed to a known Sky or Element was horrendously rude, and apparently half the people here were on the insane side of suicidal.  
She was pretty sure she had seen someone Guardian Flirt with Gokudera, and was wondering where the Decimo had gone to pick the crushed champagne glass out of his hand. She cranes her neck to find the afore mentioned suicidal Mafiosi, and found him shaking under Yamamotos less than friendly smile.  
She turned away, and pretended that her sadism quota hadn't been reached.  
"what about you?"  
Squalo drawled, tipping back the alcohol as he did so- it was amazing how many people assumed he could only speak loud enough to shatter ear drums, and so when he lowered his voice, he slipped straight under the radar.  
She makes a face, because she was a horrifically strong Cloud in her own right, and the Regal Berserker was only a shade away from being as big a name as the Sword Emperor.  
"The last hour, or the total 3?"  
"3,"  
Was the response, because Squalo enjoyed laughing at her misery, and he was a terrible friend.  
"... 10."  
Squalo frowned.  
"you got off easy. My total is a fucking 24."  
"I'm a Hibari, I have immunity in their well informed terror."  
Which reminds her to turn and scour the huge room for her nephew- She sees Kyoya slipping out of the half shadows, and the blood speck on his sleeve isn't as inconspicuous as he thinks.  
Squalo makes a strange snarling noise, and she snaps her attention to him at the same time as her Bonds start going low key haywire.  
Within moments, the two Varia are striding in a frankly terrifying manner (and this was full on striding, the type which if she saw coming towards her she would just fucking run,) towards where their Sky had already closed in on a Mafia boss who looked one growl away from pissing himself- Bel is watching in a frankly vicious manner as he stands half in front of Flan, who just looks blandly confused.  
Because Flan was a new bond, and though she intellectually knew that the last thing he would do was defect, it didn't change the fact that the idiot had tried to Guardian Flirt with someone who's only reputation marker was being part of the Varia.  
With her and Squalo, it was still tolerable and expected considering their strength.  
With Flan it was a slight against Xanxus' power as a Sky, since it implied the man had come after their Mist purely on the fact that he had been Claimed by the Sky.  
She bares her teeth.  
Tsuna tried not to sweat drop as he watched Xanxus and his two strongest commanders drag a mafia boss into the half shadows outside , the man's Family alarmed as they foolishly follow, Bel pulling Flan to the other side of the room.  
Well, they were dead.  
Mournfully ignoring the bandages he wore under a (NORMAL, REBORN! NORMAL!) pair of gloves due to a mishap earlier with his Storm guardian, he tried to ignore the Sky instincts telling him to kill the man who had Guardian flirted with Hayato since he was pretty sure Takeshi was all over that.  
Like, holy shit he could see the blood from hereeeeeeee

Nope, that was Mukuro, and judging by Chromes vaguely murderous expression, his Mists were unhealthily terror inducing.  
He turned away deliberately, because plausible deniability , and wondered at the amount of suicidal people here as he smiled and chatted with a woman who was trying to project her Flames at him.  
He nearly drops in relief when he spots Yuni, and drifts over to her, ignoring how Mukuro and Hibari promptly escorted his previous conversation partner somewhere where they can ruin her mental health.  
... He should be worried at their possessiveness,but he had been *this close * to slaughtering everybody who looked at his Guardians, so.  
... Reborn was a bad influence.  
"Tsuna!"  
She chirps happily, and in a completely contradictory action, grabs his arm hard enough he can feel her nails biting through his suit. He follows her gaze to where someone is Guardian flirting with her Lightning guardian. He makes a quiet "hieee" noise under his breath, and she looks at him with was the he silently dubs 'crazy eyes'.  
"Let's go join their conversation!"  
"ah, I actually have to go-"  
She smiles.  
"Yes ma'am."  
Mukuro raises an eyebrow as his Sky is bullied by Yuni towards her increasingly uncomfortable Lightning guardian, and flicks a bit of blood off his trident before vanishing it in a flick of his wrist.  
When the Skylark is suspiciously silent, he turns around, to see the Cloud staring blandly at a mistle toe hanging above him, the skylark, and the dead body.  
A moment of silence, and he tries to run.  
Tries.  
Rydia whistled the tune to jingle bells as she walks back into the ballroom, completely free of blood, but smile too genuine for there to have not been bloodshed.

She raises an eyebrow at the deceptively calm Decimo as his companion, Yuni, smiles prettily at a nervously sweating woman who was steadily backing away from her and her Lightning guardian- the Decmio sent his Rain guardian a pleading look from across the hall, and was sent an oblivious thumbs up instead.

She snorted, tries to walk away.

A pulse of familiar blood lust freezes her, and she looks slightly over her shoulder, expression pained as she shares an exasperated look with Squalo.

Because Xanxus was possessive on a good day.

She slumped, and resigned her self to tailing her Sky for the rest of the night lest he flips his shit and kills everybody that so much as _thinks_ about his Guardians.

There's a muffled boom which everyone dutifully ignores, and she finally notes the absence of the Decimo's Storm guardian , _and oh my god Kyoya no-_

Her face blanks, and in utter deadpan, she looks at Xanxus.

"Merry Christmas."

"Shut the fuck up."

…

Rydia quietly raised her mug of hot chocolate to her lips, and watched with deceptive mildness from the threshold of the living room as Flan struggled to hang up Christmas stockings on the fireplace whilst being pelted in the head by a continuous assault of knives.  
Bel giggled worryingly from one of the couches as Levi struggled to murder a stereo that was screeching Christmas carols, the crushed speakers lending it a markedly unholy static, and she was pretty sure that it was Mammon getting back at him for wasting money, since the Mist is watching darkly- combined with the absolutely heavenly scent of melting chocolate from the kitchen; she concludes that it's too early for this shit.  
Which is the story about how Rydia and Xanxus ended up barricading themselves in his office to try and avoid the festivities to the increasingly violent death threats of the Sun and Rain commanders.  
3 broken windows, several pot shots, and at least one ruined pressure cooker, and Squalo manages to finally manhandle them into suffering through bonding time with him; nevermind that Rydia is doing a smashing impression of the grumpy cat, and Xanxus looks half a cookie away from murdering them all.

...

Kasumi stared silently at her father as he stood happily on her doorstep.

"Merry-"

"No."

The door slammed shut, and her husband chokes on his tea further in the house.


	14. Under Stormy Skies, Part 4

Kyoya gasped for breath as he careened around the corner, face flushed and horror in his eyes, even as his training kicks in and he manages to steady his breathing in seconds- he slammed into his mother's legs, and the woman hisses slightly as she manages not to spill boiling water over them both on combat instincts alone.

"Kyo- "

"Tou-san betrayed us!"

He yelped over her uncharacteristically, and she takes in his disheveled appearance in confusion moments before her husband trots into the room casually.

Kyoya ducks behind her legs and hisses like a scathed cat.

She squints at him, and swiftly turns off the stove, even as she backs away with her child because she knows that glint in the man's steel eyes.

"Katsu- "

She dissolves into a completely unheard-of shriek as he abruptly dives forwards and manages to poke her sharply in the belly- she folds over, breathless with laughter and eyes shining in betrayal.

"WE'VE TALKED ABOUT- "

She has to cut herself off to avoid being tickled, and Kyoya squeals in horror as he finds himself being tickled mercilessly by his father, the man's expression deadpan even as his child aims kicks and flails dangerously in his laughter.

It is, she muses, completely unfair that the man himself is completely immune to tickles.

She draws her tonfa, but Kyoya's eyes narrow, and he kicks her in the knee- Katsu takes the offered bait as she wavers from the force, and swiftly disarms her by jabbing lightly at her ribs.

The mini Hibari tries to run, and his mother contorts to grab him around the middle and use as a meat shield as she backs away swiftly.

"What was that?"

She hisses at him, ignoring that she was taking advantage of him in exactly the same manner.

"Every Hibari for themselves,"

He tells her solemnly, before ducking his head obligingly as his father darts a hand in and tickles her neck. She screeches and drops him, flailing ungracefully.

They both get smacked in the face by her kimono sleeves, and she takes the split second to backflip over a table and offer Kyoya as the easier target, the kid attempting to scale a bookshelf and jump out of a window.

His dad calmly picks him off and applies pressure to his ribs.

Katsu gets smacked in the face for his trouble, again, but Kyoya wheezes for breath as he wiggles around helplessly.

"What did we do- "

Kasumi snarls, and throws a pot at them both.

Katsu ducks effortlessly and throws Kyoya at his wife.

The woman automatically catches him despite knowing Kyoya can survive a three-story fall (she had taught him personally) and pales as she realizes it leaves her open.

She should have run.

"You know exactly what you did to deserve this,"

He speaks smoothly, and then the three Hibaris are writhing around the floor in a mixture of wrestling, evasion, laughter, and torturous tickling.

A coffee table is thrown.

"Kasumi."

He asks with deceptive mildness,

"Where are my mochi again?"

"oh fuck- "

"Language!"

Kyoya cuts her off, and Katsu commiserates by tickling her.

"I SHOULD NEVER HAVE MARRIED YOU- "

"Considering you tricked me into it- "

"Kaa-san did wha- "

Cue shriek.

"She slipped the marriage papers into my paperwork and I signed them."

"You would never have signed anything you didn't want to, and I proposed!"

"One does not propose by breaking one's jaw."

Kyoya takes their distraction to slip away by crawling under the table, and promptly whacks his father over the head with a pillow hard enough that the man is actually thrown down into his wife, who kicks him off.

It just degrades from there.

…

Squalo walks into his dorm to see Rydia sprawled over his couch and playing go-fish with a grumpy Xanxus.

He walks back out of his room, closes the door.

He exhales slowly through his nose.

He opens the door.

They're still there, and this time Rydia has put up her hand in a two-fingered salute. Xanxus is squinting suspiciously at her cards.

He closes the door again.

He begins to breathe out slowly through his mouth, goes 'fuck it' when he realizes they won't just magically disappear if he wills it enough, and kicks the door open with an unholy screech of rage; ducking the first salvo of bullets and going at them in a frenzy of sword strikes- Rydia backflips off the couch, still focused on her cards with an impressive poker face, and Xanxus kicks the flat of his blade to throw off his aim.

"Sevens,"

He calls at her, and she makes a face, handing over 2 sevens- he snorts, and sets them aside along with two of his own. He already has 2 books, but Rydia seems to have 3.

Squalo curses, and the Cloud snatches out a hand, viper fast, to save the deck of cards from Squalo's flailing.

"Sixes."

"VOIIII, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY DORM ROOM?!"

"Go fish,"

Xanxus says either in reply to him or as an admission to Rydia, since he promptly has to pull a card from the deck.

Rydia does a half assed cartwheel, cards still fanned out in front of her face, to avoid a streak of blade sharp air.

A coffee table is splintered.

"Fives?"

"Go fish."

"VOIIII, STOP FUCKING IGNORING ME I WILL SHOVE A VASE DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT- "

Xanxus leans away from the irate swordsman, and his hair ruffles with the passing of his blade.

"Threes."

He scowls at Rydia and throws three cards at where she's made herself at home on the sill of one of the bay windows.

She smirks, shit eating, and Squalo seethes through his teeth- shoving his sword back into the scabbard at his waist, He drops onto the couch and Xanxus stares sleepily at him from where he's molded his form to a red armchair; one leg thrown over one of the arms, and his back pressed into the other.

Fuck this shit.

"VOIIIIII, Give me a fucking hand, you're both fucking pathetic!"

"Took you long enough,"

Rydia snorted and used a leg to kick the couch out of the way so she could toss the deck at Squalo.

The two promptly regret this decision and Rydia is just glad they didn't pick to play battleships, because that was the only way their complete and utter defeat would be more humiliating.

…

"I'm never playing with you again, you flipping cheater,"

Rydia scowled at him, and he's aware that he's lost all hope of reclaiming the bay window from the Cloud, because she's in the exact same position she was in 2 hours ago.

He had very quickly found the Sky's things tossed into a connected room, ("why do the girls get bunk beds but you guys don't?!" "I'm not the fucking administrators- ") so he's pretty sure that he can either evacuate this space or stay and evaluate the Vongola's capability as a leader and fighter.

He, obviously, chooses the latter- he doesn't even try to kick the Hibari out, since he's pretty sure her luck is bad enough that she probably shares a floor with Mary Sue.

As it is, he flips her off because he could cheat if he damn well wanted to and throws a pillow at her face on his way back to the couch; balancing a mug of coffee on a thick textbook.

He had expected her to catch it, but the muffled yelp and loud thud as she flails ungracefully to the floor is remarkedly more satisfying.

Xanxus had fallen asleep in his chair with the kind of arrogance that made Rydia's hand's twitch for a sharpie, so she's kind of glad when the scent of Coffee rouses him and he blandly steals the Sharks mug.

Said shark is remarkably less so.

A few moments of yelling, sipping, sword waving, embarrassed splutters from the floor, and they eventually settle down; Squalo grabbing another coffee in a larger mug to spite Xanxus, and Rydia making herself an obscenely sugar rich mug of hot chocolate before straight up raiding his fridge for food once her hunger belatedly hits her.

He curls up with the book, giving them both vicious evil eyes, and is somehow not even surprised when Xanxus has to set down his drink so he can drop asleep without burning himself.

He suspects Narcolepsy. Or the Sky really fucking loves his sleep. Either way, Rydia is giving his stationery worrying glances, but he's pretty sure the Sky isn't that far gone, so he glares at her until she slides her gaze sulkily back to her food.

A steady silence falls over them, and, against all odds, the two manage to make their presences unobtrusive, and Squalo is enraged to find he doesn't loathe their existences.

Rydia smirked knowingly, and he's pretty sure that's what a psychologist from hell looks like.

He throws another pillow.

It hits true, and she screeches in a staggering amount of sheer, undiluted, confused fury.

At which point she starts hissing madly under her breath about 'running gags' 'flipping animes' 'at least it's not empty wine bottles' and 'can dodge freaking bullets, but noooOOO- '.

He kind of regrets his expert hearing, so he throws another pillow, and she tips her chair backwards and onto the floor to escape it- it promptly ricochets off the wall and lands smack dab on her face.

Her scream of rage is muffled accordingly.

He grins maliciously.

Maybe he can get used to this.

(He can feel her stare burning holes into his soul from across the room.)

…

Xanxus definitely has narcolepsy, and it's enough to gain him an overwhelming amount of respect from the two people in the room, because it takes quite a large amount of skill and cunning to turn what would have been a debilitating weakness into a tool to make your enemies feel inadequate while still remaining close enough to the surface that you could react to death threats and the like.

Their reactions show none of this, and he's vaguely pissed they found out so quickly when his general attitude had made sure even Vongola Nono took 3 years after his adoption to notice anything amiss.

As it is, Rydia dumps all the pillows thrown at her on him and trots back to her bay window, and Squalo grabs his half-finished coffee back with a nasty glare and a mutter of 'It doesn't even fucking do anything for you' under his breath.

They both get shot at, of course.

…

"Look at us, we're bonding!"

"You even managed to shut the fuck up for the last few hours. Now I have to kill you."

"VOIIII, I know where to hide the shitty turnips body."

"Oi oi oi…."

…

"SO!"

Rydia clapped her hands to get their attention if the sudden shout wouldn't have, Squalo cursing as he fumbles with his instinctively half drawn sword.

She swings her legs off the bay window to point accusingly at Xanxus, the Flame theory textbook she nicked from Squalo sliding sadly off her lap. He raises a slow, unimpressed eyebrow that would have had a lesser being wilting where they stood. She ignores him.

"We,"

She points at Squalo and ignores his mutinous expression.

"Have things to tell you about Mary sue, but I don't want to do it, so battle me to see who has to do the honors."

He draws his sword with a blood thirsty grin. She squints at him and makes no move for her own weapon.

"Geeze, you'd think you've never heard what 'rock, paper, scissors' is."

Squalo wins 3 out of 5 because he's apparently pure magic when it comes to games.

Xanxus has fallen asleep again, completely uncaring- he seems to be following the policy that more sleep now means less sleep in the middle of a gun battle.

Rydia doesn't really mind, since it means he doesn't see her arguing with Squalo for 10 minutes straight about how if she's not allowed to use psychological triggers to mess with a game of rock paper freaking scissors, he's not allowed to trigger her fight instincts to making her close her hand into a fist at the last second.

All that comes out of it is Rydia swearing vehemently to mentally scar Squalo, and he better believe it.

Then she wails something about a ramen topping getting into her head, and Xanxus finally wakes up.

She doesn't even try to look dignified, folding her arms sulkily as he squints blearily at her as though that will somehow reveal the hardened warrior beneath all the 11-year-old attitude.

Oh, Godric she had attitude.

Her old man must be rolling in his grave, oh wait, he wasn't dead, because then she'd probably be haunted by him and-

She blinks as she's hit in the face with a pillow by a disgruntled Squalo, and she's too relieved at being dragged off that mental train that she doesn't even try to drop kick him.

"Right. Where was I? Oh. Mary Sue. Okay, here's the low down."

The levity fades as though her name had leeched something from the air.

(Rydia would have to check for Horcruxes later.)

Her face cools into smooth lines of calculation and if her eyes are ice chips, Squalo's are the fucking Antarctic circle, because he seems to be as done of her shit as the Cloud is; perhaps even more considering how much he hates not having control over himself or his actions.

"Mary Sue is trying to kill you. With the backing of a higher organization."

An unimpressed pause.

Squalo palms his face.

"VOIIII, WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU OMIT THE PARTS ABOUT HOW SHES MANAGED TO GET THE ENTIRE FUCKING SCHOOL UNDER HER THUMB BY DAMAGING THEIR FLAMES AND PSYCHES WITH MIST FLAMES?! NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT SHE HAS ALL THE FUCKING FLAME TYPES LIKE SOME SHITTY AS FUCK YA NOVEL AND WE STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK SHE DOES WITH THOSE!"

He screeched, and she smirked like the cat who got the canary. His eyes narrowed in realization at the fact she had just made him explain the parts she didn't want to.

"You manipulative little- "

And then the subsequent realization hits.

"We never agreed to drag the Vongola into this for his fucking help, you're worse enough-"

"Well, he would have been dragged in anyways, and technically, your explaining it to him can be counted as an agreement."

Silence, and Xanxus looks bored to death.

"Murder,"

Is all he seethes, which is worrying on many accounts, but she dutifully ignores it like a good little death defying Hibari.

She kind of wants a medal because she can feel her skin flaying with how hard the shark is trying to glare her into an idiot shaped smudge.

"Anyways, we were wondering if you knew any organizations with that kind of resourceeeeeeeee aaaaand you, sir, are asleep."

A pregnant pause, and Xanxus' head slides a little further down his palm. Rydia exhales long and slow, and thinks about why she was here, why she had forced herself to seek out the Plot.

Because it had become cloying; the Mist Flames had seeped through the walls, the floors, the spaces in between until she was choking on it, gagging up the sweet poison because it clung to her like cobwebs with weighted threads silver under the moonlight; the hair that spilled down her shoulders- a checked smile in the hallway, pale skin to her dark, stark difference in the gore her nail polish couldn't hide, the faint waft of offal made thick by a cover up of perfume. And she had smiled, not the jagged vicious curl Rydia saw in the mirror, but the soft understanding of someone already falling, and she couldn't breathe-

She had smiled, and her name had seemed an awful irony then, because the façade had fallen loose and she was imperfect in how perfect she was; and in that moment Rydia hadn't felt much of anything.

Rydia hadn't felt dangerous, or unhinged, or insane, or any of the things that had made her giddy with the belief that she floated above it all- that it was all a show, a game with her as the exception.

She had felt human. She had felt horrifically human in that even with all the blood she had shed, here was someone who hadn't even washed it off their hands, hid the monster under the plastic, wrapped her Flames around her like a choker and-

And what if it was real?

What if she had killed people, had lost them, had disfigured her very soul with her grief until she overflowed, the damage a scarring worse than any physical marks-

Mary had walked past her frozen form, her pupils contracted and muscles locked. She had walked past, and she had tilted her head up to look her taller form in the eye. She had done so and smiled with genuine blankness.

Rydia had felt human. Humans could be broken.

And she was choking on the glass; delusion refracted until she could see through it, to the fear that bubbled within Murasaki, weakness pulled apart by a spider's searching indigo gaze; false strength cast down like Clouds before the ruthless Sun.

Mary had walked.

Rydia had fallen to her knees.

….

She claps, harsh and loud, and a lazy scarlet eye half lids to watch her. But she turns to Squalo this time, and reluctantly admits that the Rain could be right.

Whomever acted as Mary's handler wouldn't be of use in the future, if only because Rydia would spit bile all over their probably polished shoes if she had to see another agent with eyes like that.

She beams at him, crooked and eyes unreadable, and proclaims, with grandeur she doesn't feel.

"Change of Schedule. My information hasn't come in yet, but anyways, knowing about her background ultimately falls to the wayside for the future- "

The future? Well, at least now she knew what she would be doing while Squalo took off after his claim to the Sword Emperor-

"-So, we have to deal more currently."

Squalo tips his head, running through arguments, before settling on a statement.

"We can assume she's their best agent, since they wouldn't risk a second rate going after part of the inner circle of Vongola. Therefore, any backup would be easy to deal with, assuming they don't straight up abandon the mission and cut their losses."

"Backup could very well be in the form of the majority of the student body acting as body shields."

A disgusted look.

"…Right, they don't count as an actual obstacle. Anyways, communications will have to be taken out first to she can't keep reports flowing."

"On an infiltration mission, communication will be significantly decreased, but she's liable to use other students to send reports in and out. I can easily disable the heads in charge of overseeing material comms, and there should be a lockdown function that takes out all electronics in the school through jamming frequencies."

"Okay. So, currently, we've established that comms will be taken down and Mary sue is working without backup. We'll need to rip apart whatever control she has on the students, though there'll probably be horrid lash back. Killing them will not be helpful in the long term, I actually want to get hired once I get out of here and killing a bunch of heirs is not the way to go."

"We'll need either a Mist or a strong Rain- "

Rydia gives him a look, and his lips curl back in a snarl- before he can protest, she flaps her hands to wave him down.

"We'll probably need both anyways, and unlike my nephew, I am not a secondary Flamed badass- "

"-You have a fucking nephew?!"

"-But I think I know somebody who doesn't have to be. As in, I'm going to bribe the shit out of a Bovino and whatever other Mist's she's picked up. Wait. Bovino…. Actually, that explains the freakish number of knives, gun collection, and bloody war hammer under the sink. But anyways, Flavia and co could be able to cause enough of a disruption to shake Mary's hold over the school population."

He holds up a hand and glares to stall the elaboration of their plan, eyes narrowed.

"Back the fuck up to the part where you have _relatives."_

"This is _not_ the time- "

"Answer the _fucking_ question you _fucking_ tuRNIP- "

"Yes, I have relatives, Hibari is a freaking clan name!"

Squalo folds a hand over his eyes.

"Oh my god there are more of you- "

She flapped her hand, blowing out her cheeks slightly.

"Its not that big of a deal- "

He lowers the hand to stare at her.

"…. Anyways, dropping the discussion of my likely homicidal relatives of mass destruction and tears, A larger mass of Mist Flames should be able to overpower Mary's voodoo shit."

"We've established that they aren't normal Flames- "

"Which is where you come in! Put down your sword and- _DUDE, HEAR ME OUT, SLAZAR ON A KNEAZLE-_ okay, _thank you,_ as I was saying, your Rain Flames should be strong enough to smother and fully tranquilize if not outright rip apart any other Flame types mixed in her cocktail of doom."

"You want me to stay out of the fucking fight."

"There won't _be_ a fight if you don't do this. But then again, she nearly overpowered you last time, so I guess I could always try and use my own Flames to- "

Squalo _glared,_ and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck- she still had to smother a manipulative, if weak, little smirk though.

"I know what you're doing,"

He informs her in a low, vicious snarl, eyes shrewd and cutting, and she could have played her cards _completely wrong_ and have a blade in her in the next few seconds- but no, she had just about managed to tip him onto a decision he was already half convinced of anyways.

So, they both, by unspoken agreement, pretend that Squalo's role was decided before hand and wasn't the product of poked pride.

"How are we going to keep her attention occupied enough for the whole thing to catch her off guard?"

They both simultaneously turned to Xanxus, who, as though sensing their stares, cracked open a lazy, scarlet eye to watch then creepily. Rydia was pretty sure she wasn't the only one who shuddered, since they turn to face each other again pretty damn fast.

""No.""

They decide, before lapsing into silence.

"Iris." "Dino"

They offer at the same time, and Rydia gives him an odd, caught off guard look.

"Dino? Iris is a damn good gossiper and I'm pretty sure she can talk enough to keep _me_ occupied for a damn long time. She's a fairly strong Cloud as well, if a bit on the ignorant side- Mary wouldn't kill an asset like that, and so would be suitably occupied."

"Dino is honest, and a _Sky._ He's a threat, especially if its implied that he's trying to rally other students around him and their _listening._ "

She frowns.

"I'm missing something."

Squalo rolled his eyes, sounding a bit disgusted with his next few words.

"He has a bit of an influence on the people around him, a natural charisma amplified by his Sky Flames- normally I wouldn't be able to talk him into using his Flames as such, but with how Mary's affected everybody's inhibitions…"

Speaking of, she was surprised Dino's flames hadn't fractured and split under the strain yet. He was…surprisingly strong. She would have to keep an eye on that.

"Okay, so we get Iris and Dino to engage Mary in conversation, about something suitably worrying enough for her to lose concentration…."

Her gaze slips back to Xanxus, and Squalo _physically grabs her face_ and turns it away from the Sky, smooshing her cheeks in the process. She tries to bite him, and he snaps his hand back with a disgusted look- that should have been _fear_ damnit, her jaws were more than strong enough to bite off his fingers!

Rydia rubbed at her pinched cheeks and glared murderously. She was not sulking. She _wasn't._

"A mafia gala."

"Excuse me?"

"Galas are usually hosted to build connections and draw lines in the sand, so to speak. The academy has a ballroom it occasionally rents out for such things, and with a Sky hosting something like that while she's reaching the climax of her plan?"

"They could phrase their approaching her as looking for advice, so she has an opening to try and dissuade him from the idea. So, Mary's distracted, and we have people working on ripping down her control. What then?"

"They'd have to stop talking at some point, and by then she would have lost complete control, though Flavia's team would have to keep up a continuous assault. We can't have her tracing them and killing them, so that's your window to engage her in combat and kill her."

She droops sadly.

"I am definitely going to tear something."

"Suck it up,"

He scoffed, and once again they lapsed into awkward silence, uncomfortable as they realized that, outside of this, they had no other common ground to speak on. Luckily, Squalo seemed about as interested in that as she was, and so she finds herself kicked out of her room with a demand to get all the recruiting done with while Squalo manages Dino and the Comms. She makes a face but concedes in the end that she'd probably fare better in direct, conversational manipulation.

 _(Xanxus watches them leave apathetically, and wonders at the Cloud who convinced him to play Go fish with her, and the Rain who beat them both at it. He considers and tips his head back with a snarling scowl and a curse at meddling old men. He considers, and decides, and sleeps, and tries not to think about the flicker of interest that curls in his Flames, amidst the howling rage and red spilled dusks; the whisper that reminds him no Sky has ever lasted without Guardians. Not for long. And his rage is all that much brighter for it. He hates it, and he hates them.)_

….

Rydia is in her dorms, being judged by three pairs of eyes, and she turns to Flavia first, looking up at where the Mist is leaning over the edge of the bunkbed, black hair falling around her face, and eyes shrewd.

A flicker of Flame, and Rydia is leaning against one of her staffs, the aluminum one because she's just about run out of oaks and raises an eyebrow at Flavia.

"Your help, in return for the theory and application behind this trick- your family _does_ work with weaponry after all."

Flavia hums noncommittedly, with a murmur of 'I _may_ have _some_ friends,', and Rydia turns to Iris, who's watching her with a predatory grace.

"You _need_ this,"

She purrs delightedly, eyes flickering with the knowledge of what she perceived as a new, rare weakness, and leans forward in what she probably thought was a threatening manner. In a way, Rydia supposed, she _was_ slightly threatened, if only by the sheer amount of _cleavage_ abruptly in her face.

She manfully resists the urge to take a step back.

"You're not taking this as a serious threat, are you? Alright, what do you want?"

"For you to answer a question, and for me to win this bet."

"…What bet?"

She asks, abruptly extremely wary- if t was anything about the Hibari clan that she couldn't answer, or about her past, she might have to reconfigure the entre plan of action and risk getting maimed by a very angry Shark.

"Are you actually a girl, or a perverted dude who ticked off female to get into the dorms?"

Rydia opens her mouth. She closes it, and after a few more tries, manages to make a semi articulate noise. She tries again, pressing back a rather hysterical bark of laughter.

"What? _What?"_

"Just answer the question," Iris huffed, making a face at Rydia's nigh linear frame; for all the curves she had.

"I'm a girl."

"…Soo, Transgender, or- "

"I am _physically and mentally female."_

A pause.

"Oh."

Rydia pinched the bridge of her nose, and Flavia made an odd, amused noise that sounded vaguely like a chitter.

"How much did you have riding on this bet Hepburn?"

Iris made a face and dropped face down into her covers.

"Around 500 euros."

" _Oh, my Godric._ Okay, you know what? Moving on. I answered your question, meet up with Dino in front of the Library."

The Cloud rolled her eyes, but did as told, hopping down from her bed and sliding on killer heels with blades in the heels. Rydia turned firmly to Flavia, who didn't look convinced- before she could switch to blackmail or full on manipulation, Lena sighed, and gave Flavia an imploring look.

A pause.

"Fine, I'll go rally the others, even if I'm not sure _what_ we're supposed to be disrupting."

"Squalo will know; go to the center courtyard."

When the Mist leaves, normally shy gait a boisterous one, she supposes that she does have to give Mary some credit in this. If either had been thinking straight, or as themselves, it wouldn't have gone nearly as easy- after all, if she had been in Iris' place, she would have asked for all of her allegiances.

She turns to Lena then, raising an eyebrow in question of her help. The Arab smirks at her.

"Thanks for the water."

Then, she's leaving the dorm, and Rydia _laughs._

 _…_

Mary smooths back a lock of flaxen hair, pinning it behind her ear with a heart shaped pin- she studies her reflection in the window, and fixes her skirt, making sure the knife is hidden correctly. She pauses when she notices the two-people approaching her, and her opalescent eyes flicker into narrow, cold slits, before widening childishly. She turns around, skirt swishing around her legs, and leans her scythe slightly so that the light catches off it and makes it seem more realistic.

"Dino, Iris!"

She gushes, pulling their names from the litany of office records she had forced herself to recognize, and smiles warmly.

The Sky smiles back at her, blonde hair curling around his ears, similar to the way her Flames wound in tight, constricting coils around him. It was…damaged though, and she forces herself to stay in movement instead of freezing, stepping closer to examine him under the guise of bounding excitedly toward them.

Parts of the lattice work had been… _smothered_ almost, dulled into inactivity, and whoever had done it was obviously skilled, since she can't quite figure out who it might be.

Either way, enough had come undone that his Sky flames had begun reaching out again; wearing away the bounds she had placed on Iris just from being in proximity to her.

She flexed her fingers idly. They would have to be disposed of- she had seen her mistake with letting Rydia walk. It would not be repeated. Her red nails glittered, and Storm Flames danced beneath the free edges.

"Mary! We were looking for you!"

Iris purred, and without warning, she found the Cloud clinging to her arm with a smirk. She smiled back but stayed her hand for now- information was power, after all.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, we wanted your advice on the Mafia Gala we're planning on holding in the ballroom tomorrow,"

Dino admitted, and she raised a delicate eyebrow even as she gushed.

"Oh no, I couldn't- I wouldn't want to intrude on planning such an event! Especially not one held by a Sky!"

"But that's just it, its only in planning. We're not sure if we should extend it until summer genuinely starts, when more students will be here, or not…"

"And you're asking me?"

She gasped, hiding her suspicion under a flutter of excitement. Dino grinned sheepishly, and she admitted that in so far, his Flame nature had been startlingly honest, even while under her constrictions. He genuinely wanted to talk to her. Appeased, she smiled back shyly.

"Well, more people can only be good, right? And anyways, they'll be returning with updates from their Famiglias!"

Dino nodded at her with a smile, and she was considering pulling him into her own plans, when something _snapped._

She shuddered; swept through the sudden influx of information with ease- her lip curled back ins sudden wrath, and she _moved._

Iris cried out as she was flung away from her with startling strength, and her eyes shone violet even as her nails seethed red- her hand snapped out at Dino, and his eyes widened as he fell backward, out of reach, with a shriek.

"What did you **dO- "**

She snarled, and she slammed her Mist Flames against whatever was blocking her, trying to move along the pathways, the _webs_ she had so painstakingly built, winding each student around her fingers. But It was _DeAdDeAdDeAd_ and the waste of Mist Flames took away from her own appearance.

It was only for a brief moment, but jade eyes shone where there should have been opal, curly black hair where there should have been flowing ringlets of flaxen, and freckled, tanned skin where there should have been unblemished porcelain.

She flinched violently, staggering backward and hand going up to her face obsessively.

"You know, you look much better without the glamour."

A familiar voice remarked, and the scythe whistled.

Rydia gasped through her teeth, having not expected the sheer _speed_ and twisted, enraged expression, and the cardboard bent and fell blunt against her stomach.

Mary stared, flat footed, and threw herself backward just enough to avoid the steel toed tip of a boot.

Her mind flickered through possibilities as she twisted gracefully out of the lash of metal staff, ignoring that the other two Mafiosi had at some point backed away if not left completely.

"You knew it was fake,"

She realizes out loud and looks furiously through her memories for when she might have slipped up and revealed as such, even as she backflips elegantly out of a truly vicious round house kick, nails beginning to shimmer gold with Sun Flame.

She isn't expecting the derogatory laugh that the Cloud graces her with.

"Honey, _everything's_ fake."

Then, their fighting in earnest, and Mary brushes her nails against the staff- she isn't worried but might as well get rid of the weapon. The sun flames spark, and combined with her storm flames, tear the staff apart in the Cloud's hands- Activation paired with Deconstruction was only a shade less destructive than Mist Flames and Storm Flames.

The Hibari curses as her hands are thrown apart from the force, shards of metal tearing open skin and muscle, and Mary _smiles-_

Rydia bends into a bridge to avoid the palm strike of red Flame aimed at her chest and uses her shredded hands as support to throw into a handstand- Her legs clip Mary's chin as the tactician falls backward to avoid the strike, gaze unyielding in their amusement.

So, Mist Flames is a no go- they would be useless if the Cloud couldn't even register them as fact.

She draws her blade from her waistband, and spins to the side as a punch is aimed where her head had been moments ago- for a moment, she thinks the cloud had left her side open, but the opposing leg to the fist thrown is abruptly very intimate with her stomach.

She bends over to lessen the impact and stabs the Cloud in the thigh without any of her usual precision- she makes up for it by _dragging_ the knife as she falls back, out of the way of an elbow strike, and hears the pained hiss let out through the berserker's lips.

They both back away slightly, circling warily, Rydia short one leg if she doesn't want to risk permanent damage.

Then, violet eyes flicker Cognac, and somehow that's what makes Mary tense- rightfully so, because the Cloud speaks a moment later.

"Latina, or Spanish?"

"I didn't hit you _that_ hard."

She dives forward as she says it, and her strike is caught with a broken beam from the display board Mary had thrown Iris into earlier.

"You clearly aren't American or European,"

Rydia continues, and Mary locks her jaw- she twists, and Rydia's head snaps back from the force of the punch- the rest of her body doesn't move, which was how Mary had positioned herself to ward against, and so she's unprepared from her heels to be kicked out.

She attempts to roll to her feet, but Rydia gets a hand around her throat, and then they're all but writhing, almost snake like in their attempts to escape each other hold.

Rydia spits blood into her eye with a snarl.

"You could be Filipino, I suppose- "

She grunts as Mary digs her nails in, before throwing her hips with a sudden burst of speed and force- the shorter girl is sent sprawling, and she scrambles to her feet. Rydia gets up as well, grey jeans dyed red with blood.

"-But why so obsessed with being this stereotypical blonde?"

Mary catches the other girls leg with the next kick and _pulls._ Rydia twists as she goes down though and manages to grab a fistful of hair before dragging her back to the floor.

Mary curses a blue streak, and rakes sparking red nails down the Clouds arm- she doesn't manage much more than the beginnings of a burn, before her hand is forced back, and Rydia headbutts her hard enough to cause minor whiplash along with the sparks that dance across her suddenly tunneled vision.

"You're wasting breath,"

She gasps, confused, before spitting a glob of blood into the other girl's eyes- she recoils with a hiss of pain, and Mary gets her hands around the other's neck, Rain Flames rippling and attempting to numb her windpipe into non-functionality.

Rydia gets her own hands around hers, and breaks one wrist, beginning on the fingers when Mary doesn't release her hold.

"Y-you- 're t-t-trying- "

She gasps in a lung full of air when Mary finally releases her in favor of widening the gash in the others leg, only to continue talking, grabbing a hand full of her hair and smashing her face into the wall.

"-To be so bloody _perfect- "_

Mary snarled, Blood Lust slamming into her opponent only to be repelled with greater if not blatantly stronger Killing Intent.

"That's it, isn't it? Look at the little _doll- "_

Mary _screams,_ and Rydia curses, falling back in shock, and then all grace is abandoned in favor of an all-out cat fight.

Her clavicle is broken, and she slides the blade in between the others ribs, _twisting-_ she hadn't hit high enough for it to be vital though, and they roll away from each other simultaneously, struggling to their feet.

She catches sight of the Cloud's expression then, bared grin steady, and words leaking poison like the blood that stained her teeth.

"Who's your _puppeteer_ little _doll?"_

"He's my Master, and you would _kneel before him- "_

Rydia laughs, and she snaps her mouth shut with a click- why had she said that? But the Cloud is grinning, and something cracked splinters.

Mary tackles her, and she just about sees her cognac eyes widen, before glass shatters and their free falling an entire story to the ground.

"I'll rip out your eyes,"

She promises her in a wild snarl, keeping Rydia beneath her, and the girl doesn't have the breath to respond because _ow, impact._

Somehow, she manages to force her legs up, folding around Mary in a vice before she twists, ending up straddling the girl- she rams a fist into her face, and the Mist Flames flicker and die.

Well, at least that meant her spine hadn't snapped.

Nails dig into her biceps, and Rydia gags blood all over her opponent, jerking violently as green crackles across her skin, folding tightly around her throat- she hurls herself away to break contact, retching, and rips the knife out of her ribs carelessly.

Mary lunges at her, jade eyes wild and unseeing, and Rydia gags again, because she looked like _her eyes were glass in a hollow head and body, another piece of a collection-_

A shot bursts her back into awareness, and she finally curses _('Just for the special occasion', she thinks, half hysterically),_ hurling the burning corpse off her as it screams, once, and for a moment Rydia stares.

She stares at the dusk bright Flames, and takes a breath, Storm Flames mixing with Sky Flames until there wasn't even an odor for as it was destroyed, completely and absolutely.

Dirt crunches, and black boots come to a lazy, prowling stop beside where she's finally managed to sit up, watching the fire as though it were some sort of carnival attraction.

She places her elbows on her knees, hands swinging between her bent legs, and huffs as she spits blood at the corpse.

"I got the knife to rip open her carotid artery. If you wanted to play prince charming, you should've arrived when we were still in the bloody 'palace'."

Xanxus scoffs, and she can hear the sneer in his voice as he kicks what was now just a pile of rapidly deconstructing ashes into the faint wind.

"I was getting tired of watching you two roll around like you were in a fucking pigsty, so I put her out of her misery. As for you…"

"I'll pass on the witch burning, thanks."

They stay in silence for a bit, until the embers are caught in the stirs of a lifeless winter breeze thawing into the summer, before she finally speaks.

"So, does this make me a Princess or something?"

He snorted.

"Try Shrek."

She looks up at him and places her fist over her heart solemnly.

"A man after my own heart."

He kicks her, and she yelps, flailing, and just about manages to restore her balance.

"So, where's Donkey?"

"Excuse me?"

"Squalo, obviously. Figured he'd be here kicking my ass by now."

A pause as he registers what she had just said, and then he _laughs._

It was a nice sound.

Vaguely disturbing, but nice.

 _(Its only when she limps back to the dorms after a session in the infirmary, and finds Flavia murmuring how about how the Cloud Flame trick could help in the storage of large weapons like Bazookas if they figured out how to make it accessible to all Flame types, that she realizes what she'd done. She hoped the stupid cow appreciated it.)_

…

 **(A/N)**

 **So, A neat little tie off to the arc on a slightly longer chapter to apologize for the wait- my motivation kind of died the last couple of months, and I only picked this up a few days ago. Amazing what rereading your story and the reviews can do for a gal tho-**

 **To;** NotYourDamsel, wolfsrainrules, TheMidgetTitanSlayer, Purplebeian,-

 **I'm glad it caught and kept your attentions, and once again, I'm sorry for the long wait- hopefully, the combination of Fluff and Fighting will make up for it?**

 **(EDIT)-Okay so I had to try a couple of times to add this before it stopped turning everything into code? The hell?**


	15. Under Stormy Skies, Part 5

**(A/N) Might read like a filler, but its definitely a plot chapter, so sorry if it seems dull at first.**

* * *

Rydia breathed out, steady and unbearably slow, until her lungs ached and her ribcage felt like it was tightening, throat closing and black spots flexing in front of her eyes.

She breathes in, just as slowly, and her heart is thumping madly with the need for oxygen- when her lungs have filled to capacity, she lets out an explosive gasp of breath and sits back heavily; the bookshelf behind her shuddered.

The carpet was a stupid, soft waste of money, and her feet sunk almost half way into the thing, and so she had decided it made just as good a seat as any.

She squinted at the notepad in front of her.

Weight was the force exerted by gravity on the mass of an object.

Weight was also what made her punches and attacks dangerous, since she had muscle mass behind each strike; which by definition meant that the force was decided by the effect gravity had on her body.

In short, a combination of mass and gravity was what decided how strong she physically was; disregarding the physiological aspect of muscle fibers, which were ultimately decided by her genetics, and which, if she tried to manipulate, would probably end in disaster.

So how did Murasaki in any way aid her physical strength? The Cloud Flames factor was Propagation, but she wasn't increasing her muscle mass like Skull did, or it would be _more_ than visible.

Which would leave the other factor to be gravity, but she was certain she wasn't affecting _that,_ since her strength didn't seem related to the manipulation of her surroundings.

So, Weight had nothing to do with her Flames.

But then _How?_

According to the law of conservation of mass, matter could not be created or destroyed, simply transformed- she had already figured out her miniature staffs were made of extremely condensed wood, making them just as heavy as a normal staff was; just smaller. So, when she 'expanded' them, she was just using already present matter and spreading and shaping that out into a more even, less compact form. Like what she does with the spikes.

…. Which circled around to her first problem. Skull, nor her, should be able to do what they did.

You couldn't just _increase_ your muscle mass, not if you didn't have muscle mass already present- she supposed he could 'transform' present matter into musculature, but that would require days or even years of slow build up. Not to mention the 'new' muscle wouldn't have any 'muscle memory' associated with it; like putting a 5-year-old in the body of a full-grown man and expecting them to be have fine motor control.

She stabbed her pen through her notepad, and glared at her fingers, where Cloud Flames pulsed beneath the skin.

That only left particle manipulation on its most basic level; the transformation and shaping of particles into a new form; no matter that she would have to know the basest chemical make ups of a single particle to replicate an object, _which she didn't and could still do._

Granted, her replicas were absolute _shit_ and wouldn't hold up to a _Lego,_ but still.

Physics just didn't seem to apply to Flames, which didn't make any _sense_ since Physics was clearly present in this…anime.

 _(She had almost said reality, and this was wrong, why was she curious? It was just a stupid show she floated above, it wasn't real. None of it mattered. So why did she wonder?)_

She ripped the pen back out and began tapping it against the ruined notepad.

Cloud Flames increased the size and number of objects.

Her running theory had been that she had somehow increased the force of weight in her attacks, but that had been dissolved the moment she actually looked at it.

(Speaking of, why did Flames color eyes, and why could she see the color every time she closed her eyes, instead of a black, or the fleshy red caused when light shone through your eyelids?)

Skull, if she strangled Physics for a moment, increased the size of his muscles to aid his strength, presumably by increasing the amount of muscle mass present.

So, by Replication.

What did she replicate? Nothing tangible, or she would have noodles for limbs instead of actual, functioning muscles.

Muscular Force?

She frowned, and the pen spun between fingers absentmindedly- she didn't process enough of her surroundings to tense at the fumbling of what had once been a graceful, practiced motion.

Her Cloud Flames had been at their most destructive when she was in contact with something; disregarding how she could shove her Flames into objects willy silly and watch them combust into a spiked mess.

Muscular force relied on touch or indirect touch through a medium.

Muscular force was also generated by the movement, contraction and relaxation, of muscles.

She flexed her fingers, closed them into a fist, and hurled a vicious punch forward- the air seemed to shudder with the force, and her arm physically _jerked_ when she halted the movement before it could be completed- her muscles burned, tense and trembling with the effort it took to hold it still, and she tilted her head to squint at her biceps.

They had definitely gotten more defined with the amount of fighting she had been doing, but despite the slightly larger curve showing clear through her full sleeved shirt, she didn't know what she had been expecting to see.

It's not like you could see _force_ itself idiot.

…. Just the effect it had on objects; but she already knew she could dent steel.

She could run a few tests and measure her muscle strength with and without Cloud Flames, but she already knew which would be superior- that meant she did, in fact, propagate the muscular force she produced.

She allowed her arm to fall limp at her side and tilted her head back to stare at the arched, high ceilings. Sunlight streamed through above her, bypassing her completely and leaving her drenched in shadow.

But how?

Muscle fibers, maybe? Fast twitch muscle fibers were responsible for sudden, explosive movements, whereas slow twitch muscle fibers were built for endurance.

Her old man had made sure she knew that her strength meant nothing without endurance, and while he had let up slightly on the muscle building, he had practically broken her back with endurance and stamina work instead.

So not slow twitch fibers, since she always felt twice as worn out when she used Murasaki- fast twitch muscle fibers instead, then.

It was bundles of muscle fibers that made up muscles, with numerous sub-structures called myofibrils being where the actual contraction took place.

So, Murasaki increased the…. efficiency? of her muscle contractions in relation to fast twitch fibers, therefore increasing the 'explosive' force behind her movements.

Which was all theory.

It was still something, _and-_

(She went still, and finally processes the vibrant, almost offensive blue of the sky outside likely bullet proof sky lights.)

 _-and_ the fact that she knew how it probably _worked_ made her feel grounded.

Too grounded, and she shuddered as the feeling of wood against her back, scent of dusty paper, clicks of pens and murmurs of voices, and general _warmth_ took on a whole new meaning.

She freezes, eyes fixed at the horizon point, head falling mechanically back to a forward-facing direction.

Shadows flit at the corners of her eyes; and almost reverently, she presses her hand to her neck.

A pulse butterflies steadily beneath her fingers.

There's salt on her lips, eyes staring wide and blank ahead, bright cognac almost cruel in their illusion of life.

 _(Because she wasn't. alive.)_

Her breath is too fast, a _mockery_ of her earlier, controlled breathing, and Murasaki ricochets inside a hollow chest; a wild eyed, temperate beast frightened by a gunshot that _threatened_ the delusions of the untouchable.

She's twitching, and she folds her fingers into weak fists; abandoning Fight and sinking into Flight when the same hands close around her middle- she's hunched over then, and she can't _breathe._

There's yellow and black in front of her eyes, sunlight and shadow, and she wants to laugh, because of _course_ she's at her most poetic when there's _ReDREdReD_ spots and Mary is _burning._

The doll had _burned_ and she had watched and joked, and she was so glad there hadn't been anything of anything left.

Fire was supposed to set the soul free.

She wished she had died before the Flames.

 _(But if she had died, then what was this?)_

Her nails are blunt, but they've cut through her shirt and her skin, and Murasaki is a step away from burning her hands apart from within.

The blood stuns her, and she forgets she's drowning, to think, quite inanely, that she _really_ needed to stop ruining her clothes before she ended up needing to tell people she was a cosplayer not a serial killer.

Which.

Well, she wouldn't call herself _serial._

She laughs.

It's stupid, it's not even a joke, and its morbid as _hell_ but she cackles like she'll go _under_ if she doesn't and pulls her Pride around her like an armor.

(She was strong. She was Hibari. Those with wings never fell.)

 _(Did they?)_

She forces her attention to her hands, and forces herself to stare at them, and _forces_ herself to think of skill and spinning staffs rather than graphite and ball point stains.

She breathes out, and traces the scar along her forearm, the one that could have killed her with ease.

She stares at the white line, stark against dark skin, and observes the shape. She looks at the way it curves in relation to her muscle groups, tilting her wrist closer to her face to squint at the way the skin stretches and shadows slide across the toned limb.

Her pen is functional, but her notepad is ruined, so with shaking hands she sets pen to skin and begins a crude imitation; she needs to _do_ something, needs to focus on anything but the sheer _solidity_ of everything around her-

She's drawing on her palm, and she can't keep shaking this much if she wants to get the shadows right- the dark blue replica traces down her life line, and she had had to warp the original shape to do so.

It takes more work, and she's frowning, trying to get it right despite having twisted it, and she notes that its remarkably easier when her hands aren't twitching like she's downed 7 caffeine pills, and like she took 5 instead.

She isn't sure for how long she's sat there, in the dark corner in a library that smells like stale blood and books, but its long enough for the sunlight to have shifted until its beating down at her with the wrath of noon, and she's quietly stunned to find she isn't…. _repulsed_ by the drawing.

Sure, it hadn't been as effortless or quick as it used to be, but…

Her hands had stopped shaking, and if her breathing was a little too quick to be right, mind a little too scrambled and eyes a little too focused, well.

It wasn't like she had an invisible peanut gallery.

…. Right?

Oh, screw her and everything that was her mind.

…

She ambles out of the Library eventually and isn't sure why she's surprised when she quite literally walks into Dino- training kicks in, and she locks her knees, bracing her weight.

Dino rebounds off what could very well amount to a wall of solid muscle, and goes down with a yelp, and-

A stare prickles on the back of her neck, and she spins on her heels, hackles rising violently; her Pride dissipates from its cloak.

"Are you okay?!"

He exclaims, scrambling to his feet and looking at the blood seeping from her sides, brow furrowing further when he sees the blood on her fingers.

"There's someone watching you,"

She tells him instead, just to be courteous, and she shudders when the stare is just _gone_ with the kind of sadistic skill done just to _creep her the hell out._

"I told you I have a tutor,"

He sounds miserable, and kind of haunted, and _hell no._

She immediately tries to walk away, but somehow the kid had become brave enough to stop her by grabbing her forearm; so, say what you will about Reborn, but he was _effective._

She still glares, and Dino drops his grip quickly.

"I'm just…. are you okay?

"…. You don't belong in the Mafia."

She tells him honestly, almost uncomfortable with the gentle twisting of his Flames, because that had to be unnatural- nobody had that much _kindness_ in them. They just didn't.

He flinches, affronted and taking it the wrong way, but he sets his jaw, and meets her eyes. It's cute. Like a poodle trying to stare down a Rottweiler.

"You hurt yourself,"

He stresses, and her gaze cools- if it was anybody else, she would have cut them down immediately at what counted as an insinuation of weakness.

It wasn't anybody else.

"Why do you care?"

He opens his mouth to respond and seems to conclude that 'I just do' wasn't something she would just take at face value. He deflates, but perks up a bit later, looking up at her with sad, misplaced concern, and her irritation mounts- how did people _stand_ that kind of behavior?

"Squalo is at the training area?"

"…. You care because he's in the training area?"

"What? No- "

"…. I'll be sure to tell him it was you who gave away his location when he's frothing at the mouth."

He pales, and Rydia walks, and maybe she really shouldn't feel better, but she does. Especially when she hears his faint whisper of 'please god no'.

…

Squalo glares.

Rydia stares.

His eye twitches.

Xanxus yawns.

Rydia sta-

They both _shriek,_ and Rydia spins around fast enough she feels her neck crack- Squalo physically recoils from the Sky, because _WHERE THE FUCK-_

They both go down in a flailing pile, and Xanxus looks down at two of the strongest Mafiosi in the school.

Who are on the floor.

In a training room.

Rydia's looking between him and the door and mouthing _'what the heck'_ over and over again, and Squalo is breathing fast and a bit too wild eyed.

"What the _fuck,"_

He intones blandly, and that seems to break the spell. Rydia scrambles to her feet, shoving Squalo's head down to do so- it stands to reason then, that she should have expected it when he drags her back to the floor and tries to throttle her.

Xanxus yawns again and walks away.

Neither notice.

…

Rydia has started drawing her scars.

The drawings are crude, but it wasn't something she had done a lot of in the Before- it made it less…aggravating to see how horrid she was.

She sketched a hand reaching out, a loose stretch of scribbled ball point- in darker, more defined strokes are light lattice works that wind around her fingers and wrists, little dashes from splinters or knives or anything else she hadn't quite dodged.

She even continues the drawing and adds the clean slit along her forearm.

The thumb is out of proportion.

She scraps it.

She doesn't pick up the small, pocket sized notebook for a while.

…

Rydia plunges into an ocean of violet, surrounds herself with the steady thrum of pressure against her ears, the slow tightening of a chest in a weightless body.

She regains feeling all at once with a shuddering gasp for air and wide, startled eyes.

She doesn't try to move from where she had fallen to her knees and studies the ravaged room around her with recovering composure.

Her old man had called her a Berserker.

Well, he certainly wasn't wrong.

She makes a note to brush up on her psychology and to start attending Flame Theory classes.

…

Squalo walks into his dorm and sees Rydia sprawled over his bay window, belly down, and staring at her textbooks like they had the answer to the universe.

He idly makes note of the tactical utility belt at her hip; certainly, more efficient than her previous thigh holster. Presumably she had requisitioned it at the same time she did new clothes, since the baggy navy sweat shirt didn't seem very conductive to combat; even if she had paired it with her already ruined grey jeans.

The staff in charge of requisitioning items for the students so as to keep them from leaving the security of the campus; were notorious for their terrible ability to choose fitting clothes.

As though sensing his judgement, she snapped up cognac eyes to squint blearily at him, before leaning back from her books with a disgruntled noise.

"I'm going to end up with glasses again at this rate,"

She mutters flatly to herself, folding her feet under her petulantly and squinting at him as though daring him to make her move.

They glare at each other for a bit.

"You got question B wrong."

"The heck can you see it from there?!"

She demanded, but turned back to her worksheet obsessively, before scowling.

"I'm not wrong shark chum- "

 _"_ _VOIIIII, YES YOU FUCKING ARE YOU DUMB TURNIP BITCH- "_

Which is how Xanxus walks in at 1 am, 5 hours later, wiping blood off his knuckles, to see the two of them spitting fire in a barely controlled debate- she clearly hasn't progressed in her worksheet, there are too many diagrams to be healthy, and Xanxus squints at them as he drops into his chair.

"Its answer C you fucking invalids,"

He snips, and their heads snap around like vultures on the hunt, wild around the eyes like only the truly academically oriented.

 _"_ _Explain."_ Short, crisp, cold, almost passive but not quite. Rydia.

" _VOIIIII, THE FUCKING FUCK ITS C YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OVER HERE-" Squalo_. Just…. Squalo.

Xanxus makes a quiet, nearly inaudible whistling noise and his head slides down slightly against the backrest; impossibly lithe frame curled into the chair between one curse and the next.

They stare disbelieving.

 _"_ _Did he just- "_

"you are fucking _dead to me."_

Its even worse because he's _right._

 _…_

Rydia hated sweater paws.

She glared at her hands, swamped to invisibility by the overly large hoodie, and cursed her lean frame. She was tall, so the hoodie fell neatly at her hips, but the rest of it was clearly made for someone with a broader frame. The seams supposed to be at her shoulders were only a few inches above her elbows, and if she pulled up the burgundy hood it would probably fall to her _chin._

Muttering under her breath, she folded up the sleeves- there wasn't much she could do about the rest of the baggy monstrosity, but she had forsaken her usual ruined jeans for slacks; which meant she wasn't looking to start a brawl today.

…Not like she could, baggy clothes more than inhibited speed, it was _annoying_ too.

As expected, Killing Intent was a useful substitute for actual fighting, especially when paired with a combat stance she had no intention of using. Assumption was a useful tool.

She folded her feet beneath her and discontinued her idle doodling to look back at the task in front of her- She had found quite a bit of reference to berserk Clouds in her textbooks, but rarely a reason for _why._

Everything she _had_ found was _profoundly useless_ to her research.

Clouds are prone to large Flame reserves.

Clouds are likely to be anti-social or awkward.

Clouds are territorial.

Clouds are the second rarest Flame type; more because of their high mortality rates than anything.

Cloud Flames transformed already present particles by adhering to the molecular structure of the object they tried to replicate- most of the time, it was instinctive. So, Clouds that _thought_ about what they were doing rarely succeeded.

Beside her, a spike jutting out of the table fell apart.

She felt like impaling her forehead on its sad remains.

She scowls when her hair swings into her face for the umpteenth time today and pushes away from the dining table without bothering to clean up after herself.

The chair skids off behind her, and she pushes her hair from her face with enough vindictiveness to make her eyes burn from the abrupt yank- storming past her bay window, she isn't sure why she expects Squalo to have hairbands in his room, but she's annoyed when she can't find them anyways.

Muttering under her breath, she attempts to smooth down the now shoulder length locks- her bangs are too short to pull back, so she holds the pony tail at the base of her neck and ties it together with a rubber band.

She knows she'll regret using the office equipment later, not the least because she raided Squalo's stationery for it, but in her opinion, it was the shark's fault for slicing her bangs into the uneven side part they were and therefore making them incapable of being tied back.

She didn't quite care for the logic of it; if that weren't apparent.

She flurries out of his room in the same irrational rage she had entered, and freezes, one foot off the ground, to stare blankly at Xanxus.

He stares just as blankly back and takes a slow sip of his coffee.

"Considering you're wearing the equivalent of a red potato sack and look like you're about to start aggressively strumming a guitar while wailing about world peace, I'd like you to be aware you have lost all rights to look that angry."

She gapes, caught flat footed and mouth opening and closing in the imitation of unsaid words, and Xanxus sweeps (fucking _sweeps_ ) past her with all the unfair grace of Karmic justice.

Her foot finally lands heavily, and stunned, she shoots off the first thing to fall down the stairs of her scrambled wits.

"You _stupid head!"_

It really, _really_ isn't worth hearing the Vongola spit take his coffee and snort it out of his nose.

Her face is on _fire._

 _…_

"ITS DYING WILL MODE!"

She shrieks, head shooting up from where she had been doing an imitation of a corpse on the dining table.

Squalo curses at the abrupt noise and motion, fumbling desperately with the coffee pot- The Cloud hurls herself to her feet, only to forget she had been sitting cross legged on the chair.

Predictably, she goes down like Titanic.

It doesn't deter her at all, and with an eerie resemblance to a rabid racoon, she's scrambled to her feet as she fumbled desperately with her pen, upending the mounds of worksheets and textbooks in her quest for spare paper.

Her dark circles set off the broad, crooked grin that's all teeth, and she's so out of it she doesn't even have time to blink before Squalo roundhouses her with enough force to make her keel over backwards.

"VOIIIII, YOU NEARLY MADE ME SPILL MY FUCKING COFFEE YOU CREEPY BITCH!"

He snarls, and stalks off like a doused cat- groaning, she rolls onto her stomach and glares into the living area after him, eyes violet and marble cracking under the strain of twitching fingers.

A brief, muttered conversation with herself later, and the sleep deprived 12-year-old decides being a mad scientist takes precedence.

Painfully dragging her creaking limbs back onto her chair, she sets about outlining a research paper because she _knew what triggered her into going berserk._

Okay, fine, it wasn't _true_ Dying Will Mode, but it was certainly a watered-down version of it.

The Flame didn't appear on her forehead, and her clothes didn't burn off, presumably because her Flames were internalized instead of externalized- If not for the unawareness during the state, she would have likened it to Hyper Dying Will Mode instead. As it stood however, the form she had been using was remarkably more dangerous, since the first time she had stayed more than a few seconds in it, she had ripped her Flame reserves a new one.

The damage to her reserves meant she would have to avoid ever going into either Modes, but if she found a way to externalize the Cloud Flames as she generated them, she might be able to use a 'diluted' version in combat.

She goes still.

It doesn't last, because she knocks over the chair and nearly face plants in her mad scramble for the living room, eyes zeroing in on a head of spiky silver hair- she doesn't even notice when she sails bodily over Xanxus in her attempt to flying squirrel Squalo into submission.

She takes him and his chair down with an unholy crash, and she's ever so lucky his coffee was left untouched on the side table.

" _Squalo-_ stop screaming you're fine- _when I went berserk during-_ Stop trying to slap me- _our fight, what was I doing to expel Cloud Flames?"_

…

Rydia was the most violent valedictorian to ever valedictorian.

Which, considering the school was distinctly European, was quite an achievement.

Xanxus squints at where the Cloud is face down in her textbooks, pen rolling between her fingers- with the distraction of Mary Sue eradicated, she had hurled herself into her academics with the zeal of one craving mental stimulation; if the amount of math sums and angry scribbling was anything to go by.

Yawning, he casts the living area a vaguely disgruntled look- it wasn't messy per say, but it was certainly lived in.

It was unfamiliar; the Vongola mansion was rarely left in a state of disarray for long.

Squalo had put up a medium sized corkboard on one of the walls, likely due to him not being able to fit its contents onto the absolutely _humongous_ one in his room- it looks like something out of a TV show: color coded string, world map, textbook clippings, unreadable shorthand and even odd little diagrams that look more at home in a dojo or laboratory.

It had been left untouched for the most part, but he knows Rydia sometimes adds random, completely irrational doodles of swords that would be considered impractical in an _anime,_ with the words 'Nerd' on the back of the post its.

Its horrifically childish, and Xanxus had at some point gone out of his way to tack a bunch of shark stickers all over the board to mark the location of said post its.

There was a stack of History books unrelated to their curriculum lying neatly on a side table, most probably Squalo's- as though in direct contradiction, he spots a Sociology textbook lying tented on one of the couches, sticky notes haphazard and half written.

Rydia's, then- in truth, the Cloud left more of her things here than she did in her dorms. The bay window had at some point gained a mound of pillows and books; rather oddly resembling a nest. There are sticky notes pasted to the framework of the windows in a colorful mess; which fortunately stayed within the bounds of the window space. He makes idle note of the electronic candles scattered about her niche for lack of lamp space.

She had probably stolen them from someone; he doubted she would go through the trouble of requisitioning those.

Walking over to examine her niche, he stifles a snort at the sight of a note pasted neatly over a loose, half-finished bird sketch. It has a historically accurate katana drawn in tight, sure, strokes; which is how he knows its Squalo throwing shade at her despite the lack of written words.

It strikes him then, that there was barely any sign of his own presence; save for the chair he had monopolized and the hidden cartoon sharks that mocked his roommate.

It takes them a couple of weeks and an alarming number of screeched curses, stubbed toes, and face plants to realize that all the furniture in the apartment had been moved 5 centimeters to the right, or that at some point they had started finding feathers in the most improbable places.

He thinks his favorite time is when Rydia staggered out of the kitchen, spitting feather fluff and staring at her hot chocolate in betrayal, before falling bodily over a table _that shouldn't have been there,_ only to realize what had just happened with a loud shriek of: _"XANXUS YOU FUCKING TROLL- "_

It's even better because he thinks it may be the first time she's ever cursed, and now she'll carry that event to the grave.

(later He stares down their accusations with cold eyes and colder, derisive words. " _unlike you, I actually have some class, scum."_ He doesn't think he's seen a more amusing sight than the sheer frustration that followed.)

…

 _(It takes a couple of nights for her to realize her dark circles had stopped being so prominent, that she had stopped waking up with phantom straps around her abdomen and lifeless green eyes staring up at her._

 _That the broken edges had been sanded down and refined into something unforgettable but less painful. It takes her a couple of nights to realize she's healing._

 _And when she does, she falls back into cold killing intent pulled around her like armor; because even if she had promised to withhold her loyalty, it felt a little bit like betrayal._

 _It felt like betrayal, because she didn't deserve to heal; not if evergreen and ozone clear air couldn't.)_

…

Rydia would like to think she hadn't felt this light; _productive_ for what seemed like, and probably was, years. She didn't exactly keep track of time, though she thinks she may have to start to- with spring bleeding into summer, the exams were approaching, along with curious murmurs about a trip to Mafia land.

Considering the place was a hub for communications, they would likely be expected to start looking at sponsors and agencies- officially, she was being sponsored by the Difo Famiglia, but she highly doubted they would use up their favors by asking her to take on hits this early on; which meant she wouldn't be getting her contracts from them.

That worked for her, since she was aiming for _freelance,_ thank you very much.

As is, it wasn't exactly public knowledge, so she supposes she shouldn't have been surprised by the invitations she gets leading up to the examinations- the heirs returning for summer likely knew her only by reputation, and so had no qualms in asking her to join their Famiglias with attitudes ranging from condescending to awed stubbornness.

She refuses all _(politely)_ , even a request from _Dino_ that he had likely been bullied into giving by Reborn and is only vaguely surprised when she has to turn one down from Flavia as well.

Its only when Squalo snaps and punts a particularly obnoxious heir down the hall, that she realizes he had been chasing off head hunters as well- after that display, it seems only natural that they begin commiserating (reluctantly) to deflect any offers thrown at them.

Commiserating, because even Squalo knew attacking heirs for _extending invitations_ was a positively terrible idea if they wanted anything approaching a contract in the future.

It gets to the point that she convinces him to jump out of a window to avoid yet another offer from the Bovino, who just didn't seem to know when to give up- it was made worse by the fact they had a truly _horrific_ number of members (explained why they were able to kick Lambo so easy), even if most of them were more geared towards engineering weaponry than actual combat.

She isn't sure when it happens, but at some point, a rumor starts going around that they had already been claimed by the Vongola, and they sure as hell didn't do anything to deny it, since it meant they stopped getting invitations.

If it meant she wouldn't have to drag Squalo behind everything from a door to a bush or being dragged in turn beneath _literally every table in the academy,_ she would have told Xanxus he was the lovechild of a goat and a gecko.

Which, considering she practically lived in their dorm room, was a one-way ticket to hell.

Rydia rolled her neck, stretching her arms behind her back- she cracks her knuckles to loosen up her fingers, and bounces lightly on the balls of her feet.

Her grey jeans are little worth more than rags at this point, color lost in some places where blood had darkened torn cloth- they're still the most practical clothes she has to fight in, however, even if the black tank top she's wearing had been snagged off the requisition office on her way to the training wing of the mansion.

They had all congregated in a large hall on orders of the Academy's invigilators for the exam, but she had managed to find a corner where the press of bodies wasn't as dense.

She scuffs the toe of her work boot against the ground to scrape off a bit of dried blood, and sighs at where the steel caps had been dented outwards slightly.

A flash of silver in the corner of her eye, and she turns to tip her head at Squalo- his scowl deepens in response, and she smirks smugly.

"You look like a fucking hipster,"

He spits at her, vaguely distracted if the lack of yelling is anything to go by- his eyes keep flicking to the ceiling, a vague frown across his brow.

Her smirk drops immediately.

"I wore flannel and the acclaimed 'red potato sack' _once- "_

He holds up a hand and begins counting down on his fingers.

"Coffee addict, you switched to putting up fairy lights instead of the electric candles, you go out of your way to make your favored sketches look vintage before pinning them up; you pin them up like a photography wall _in the fucking kitchen; fucking_ there are _bamboo plants_ on our _window sill, where the fuck did you get those- "_

"I miss my old mans tsukiyama garden, _screw off- "_

They pause and turn simultaneously to look up at a corner of the room.

"So, you did notice it,"

She says blandly, previous conversation dropping in unstated defeat.

"Before you fucking did."

He spits back, and they skulk out of the room with annoyed prowls- she squints at where Xanxus was already reclining against a wall with a mutter of 'Overpowered'; and picks a spot further down the corridor to wait.

In resignation.

Because really, there wasn't much they could do to prepare at this point.

2 minutes later, and the entire world seems to rock beneath her feet; ears ringing silently with the deafening explosion of noise that threw white spots into her vision.

She would have left the area completely, but they had been told explicitly that leaving the premises until permitted would lead to instant disqualification.

Its only when she's ruefully trying not to throw up, completely destabilized, does she wish she was a Sun- maybe then she would be able to make more out of the buzzed echoes that she thinks is supposed to be an announcement- there's no shadow of heat against her face, so she assumes nothing had combusted in the explosion- that, and everything is still intact.

Her ears clear with a sickening pop and a lurch, and noise impacts her like a bullet train.

 _"_ _-oint based scoring system based on performance._

 _Lethal force is disallowed. Mortalities will result in disqualification._

 _Famiglias have been assigned according to role number- the defending Famiglia are students numbers 1 through 113, attacking Famiglia are students 118 through 230._

 _The defending Famiglia's objective is in classroom E32. Attacking Famiglia to retrieve the objective and hold the area until the time limit had been reached._

 _Scholarship students 114 through 117 have been assigned as infiltrator parties and are hereby enemies of both Famiglias. Mission: retrieval and holding of the objective until Time limit. Collaboration is not required._

 _Repeat: Scholarship students Xanxus Vongola, Squalo Superbia, Dino Chiavarone, and Rydia Hibari are infiltrators. Take down of these parties will result in an additional point gain: 60% of original score._

 _Recommendations will be based on individual examination results._

 _All students have full reign of the Academy. Any resource already present on school grounds are usable. Time limit is 6 hours. Begin!"_

…

Rydia skidded on gravel, kicking up a spray- her leg throws up in a vicious round house, and there's blood on her lips and fight in her eyes.

Her grin is _exhilarated,_ and she mourns having ever given in to her Berserker rage- a power move, for sure, but not nearly as rewarding.

There's a comfortable burn in her muscles, and she moves like a well-oiled machine- stiffened fingers and a swift strike, and a gun clatters disarmed to the ground. She catches one of them in the chin, before there are arms underneath hers, lifting her clear of the ground.

A male of considerable bulk stumbled backward as she twists; ducks her head and allows his comrade to slug him in the face instead of her eye.

She uses his lack of balance to throw herself sideways and breaks the hold when they hit the ground- she rolls onto her shoulder to avoid a spray of bullets, turning it into a rolling kick that takes the armed one down.

Still in motion; she's on her feet and kicking the remaining girl hard enough she cracks through a solid wood door with a sickening crash.

Unhalted, she strides into the computer room and finds the camera feeds.

A Bovino pales at the sight of his downed guards and scrambles out of her way- she jabs him in the neck to knock him out anyways, and easily finds the path of burning waste that drags behind Xanxus like a cloak of rent embers. There's method to his madness, and her lip curls in competitive distaste- fingers flying over the keyboard, she's not surprised when she can't find Squalo.

E32 and surrounding corridors had surreptitiously lost transmittance, but she cycles through several camera feeds working outwards from the classroom until she finds one with stuttering quality.

She examines the thick smog of black smoke, and what she thinks may be a collapsed wall.

The Defense was working with a funneling technique, then.

A few more flickers affirm that they had narrowed the amount of entrances to the classroom- the only one available was through the eight-story window, and a stretch of Mist washed corridor- or so she expected, since the feed for it was jerky and barely functioning.

They likely had a sniper set up.

That did not, of course, account for if the objective had been moved - they most likely had, since while the room had been converted to look defensible, it was also a brilliant 'kill spot', and they could easily be using the 'objective' as bait to incapacitate students. Not to mention she wouldn't have been the only one to access the feeds, and it was odd they had left a functioning camera on their supposed home stretch.

A kill spot then.

She flicks back to Xanxus' path of destruction, and follows the string of unresponsive camera feeds, marking out the locations mentally- he appeared moving in a circular prowl, and had likely gained information via intimidation.

That was ineffective, however, as she had quickly found out both the Assault and Defense were acting on a need to know chain of command. Grunts knew only what their 'ranking superiors' told them, so on and so forth.

While smart, the flaw with that tactic was….

She smirked grimly when she finally finds a string of responsive cameras.

Xanxus had stopped his prowl at the second floor or lower, since the third floor was intact.

The flaw with the 'chain of command' communication tactic, was that it resulted in one King pin with all the information, or several ones to keep it balanced.

With the size of the force, she could assume both Assault and Defense had several 'commanders' whom had all the information.

And it seemed Xanxus had found a couple. She catches silver at the corner of her eye, and her head snaps to a camera feed a moment before the wiring sparked and she was plunged into darkness with a low electronic whine of distress.

She sighs in annoyance, and pushes away to begin moving- evidently, she had been stationary for too long if Squalo had had the time to shut down the Academy's entire power grid.

And she knew it was him, because really, who else would be arrogant _(justified)_ enough to hobble themselves along with their opponents in such a way?

Dusk throws pools of blood at her feet through arched windows; a flash of violet and an aluminum staff swung loosely between skilled fingers.

Time to go _hunting._

…

She had opened her senses.

It had been so long since she had used her Flame sensing after the incident with Xanxus, and while the same overpowering blast of Sky Flames hit her at full velocity, she's surprised to find that it flows around her instead of over her- she doesn't dwell on that for long, because it was still _incredibly strong,_ and so she pushes through and flickers through the Flame signatures she can feel at the edge of her mind; dwarfed by the Vongola.

She's on the other side of the campus from him, and so it's easier to pick up on the Mists in her vicinity first, cycling swiftly through _(playful spid-fogged crysta-clear fog-twisting branc-depthless indi-),_ more focused on their locations than nature.

Mists would make the most logical commanders, since they would be able to hide themselves away with quiet ease and misdirected shadows.

She looks for the smallest signatures, ignoring any that feel familiar- they wouldn't risk choosing someone she had explicitly made note of.

She finds a flicker on the roof, still and surprisingly calm- _(Lake with mist roiling under the surface, cloudy marble and cool calculations.)_

Normally she would be against going to such an out of the way location, but since the Mist had done so, it meant they had no intentions of joining the fight; they were too weak for long range illusions.

Which left the only probable reason to be that they oversaw communications.

 _Up to date_ communications, since they hadn't moved to a busier area despite the power grid failure.

She doesn't waste any time, shutting off her sensing to gain respite from Xanxus' heavy handed assault- she didn't know how fast he was moving, and was lucky she had already been moving upward along the winding staircases.

She leaves slumbering bodies and bruises in her wake with brutal efficiency, and at some point, is forced to scale part of the Mansion's face when she found herself faced with a partially collapsed stairwell.

As it is, she ends up accessing the sloping, tiled roof externally- the mansion didn't exactly have roof access, though she was lucky Italian architecture seemed to favor more gentile inclines over steep shingles.

She takes a couple of silent steps away from the edge.

The Mist is a waif of a boy, sitting with his back to her, but the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end anyways- the air seems charged, and after a moment she realizes what it is.

He's not breathing.

Rydia twists, and a knife whistles in the space where her torso had been- she grabs the arm with the blade and throws him across the roof to make some space, the previous illusion sliding away like fog in a summer breeze.

"So, there is some merit to the scholarship students,"

Came a flat, bland drawl, and he was _fast._ She turns into another strike, and glances violet charged fingers against a dainty wrist- it dislocates with a pop.

There's no mercy in cold lavender, and with an apathetic sigh, the male holds his hands up in defense, blinking slowly.

"We don't have to fight. We can work together on this."

When she doesn't make any move to attack him, watching with regally imposing features and an arched brow, he holds up a police grade transceiver and a notebook with neat, organized notes.

He smiles, a sardonic twist of pale lips.

"Superbia acquired the Objective as of 3 minutes ago and is currently engaged in a game of keep away and combat with Vongola. The Defense is organizing a 'Sting' operation. What do you say?"

Rydia _grinned._

* * *

 **(A/N) Is this pacing alright? What do you guys think about the formatting? Too slow in the beginning, or? It doesn't seem appealing to me, but I'm not sure where I've gone wrong. Feedback is always appreciated!**

 **To;** All, because I need to go to sleep before I die.

 **I'm glad so many of you find my humor…humorous, really! Its nice to know we're united in our terrible taste. For those straining for the Hibari reunion, I'll probably get out a chapter soon tying up all loose ends, like the Hibari, Red, so on and so forth. But! Mafia land Arc!**

 **!**

 **About Xanxus having watched the Shrek movies, at some point I AM going to be head cannoning the entire line of Vongola heirs that died before Tsuna, but that's way in the future- for now, lets focus on trying not to get too OOC while giving Xanxus more personality than Sleepy Rage!**

 **Thanks for keeping up with the progress, and have a good day~**


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